Coming Undone
by Ris Fallon
Summary: On a night when the Yagami family should have been celebrating Hikari's dance team placing in a competition, they're rushed to the hospital after an accident on the drive home. Taichi arrives at the hospital to learn that he's now Hikari's legal guardian.
1. Prologue

**Author's note:** Well, my friend and I were having a random movie night one weekend, and somehow we started talking about what we'd do if, heaven forbid, we became orphaned. Both of us have at least one older sibling, so I figured that my oldest step- brother would probably move in and take care of me... at least for a year. Even though we're not blood related, he's the overprotective sort. Anyways, the entire conversation sort of reminded me how, when me and my step brother got closer, he always reminded me of Taichi. Whenever I cried, he was the one to run over and comfort me, he fought my battles even when I didn't want him to, and I hated seeing him upset or worried more than anything. So that entire conversation, combined with that memory, inspired probably THE MOST angst-driven thing I've ever written. Though... I feel like I might get shot for starting YET ANOTHER multichapt. Does it help if I say it's already half-written on my computer?

**Shipping warnings:** Takari, Taiora, Jyoumi, one-sided Daikari, Kenyako

May change as story events unfold!!

**Read and Review! :** Critiques, praise, suggestions...all appreciated within the realm of constructive criticism. However, flaming just because you dislike a shipping... go to hell, seriously. I respect (almost) all shippings, so I request you grow up and do the same or get outta my zone. Seriously, go write your own fluff if what I write displeases you so much. The shipping wars are just RIDICULOUS!! Aha, I'm done now.

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"We'll be home in 2 hours, Tai."

Taichi sighed and nodded for what felt like the twelfth time in this one conversation. He was beginning to feel like a bobble head. His mother would say something, and he'd nod. And she'd say something else, and he'd nod some more. It was a never-ending cycle.

"We're just bringing Hikari home from her dance competition now," she explained.

"Okay." If he didn't wrap this up soon, he'd be falling asleep on the phone. Not for the first time, he wondered if she was testing him- trying to see how well he was paying attention. Maybe there'd be a pop quiz when he got home.

"Can you make dinner?"

"Sure thing." And he was sincere in that. He didn't want his mother cooking- especially after his little sister just got back from an athletic activity. The last thing he needed was for her to get food poisoning, or something stupid like that from their mother's 'experimental cooking'. Experimental indeed- if she worked for some psycho poisoner.

"Nothing with preservatives, got me," she demanded, and he groaned. Still, the brunette nodded and mumbled his understanding. He didn't think she really believed him though. He'd sneak Hikari a Yankee Doodle or something after dinner, he decided, as a congratulations. One of the first things his mother had been sure to tell him was that the dance team made the top 3. Odaiba Junior High hadn't scored so well since the year before Taichi went in. It was definitely something to boast about for a couple weeks.

"Anything else, Mom," he asked, stifling a yawn with difficulty. He all but stuffed his fist into his mouth to muffle the sound, but he was sure she heard him anyway. She sighed, and he could just picture her shaking her head hopelessly on the other line.

"No, no... The house isn't on fire or anything?"

That took Taichi aback. He actually stared at the phone as though the thing were malfunctioning before returning it to his ear, sounding offended. "Why would it be," he demanded suspiciously, raising an unseen eyebrow.

"Oh, nothing, nothing," she replied, sounding distracted. He heard his father mumble something in the background. "Stop it, I know how to drive!" Taichi winced, even if the comment wasn't for him. If they were at it again, and Hikari was stuck in the car with them for an hour... He made a mental note to give her an extra Yankee Doodle. "We'll see you soon, Tai."

"Right. Bye." He had opened his mouth to add 'love you', but she hung up before the words could get out of his mouth. Scowling, he hung up the phone and sighed, rubbing the back of his neck in thought. His dad had a bit of a drinking problem.. Maybe that was why they were bickering so much lately. It was getting a little tiring though. The fighting just got worse and worse, and he felt as though he were putting more effort into keeping Hikari in good spirits than he spent saving her from Myotismon!

_Right. Well. First thing's first, _he thought to himself, rubbing the palms of his hands together as if preparing himself for great task. And then he called Sora.

"Hey, Sora?" He said it questioningly- she was sounding more and more like her mother on the phone by the week. It was getting hard for even him to tell them apart, and he'd known her since childhood. He waited till she confirmed it was her before pressing on. "Er... I need some help."

"What did you do," she demanded. He sighed. Did no one have _any_ faith in him these days? ...Besides the kind that was sure he'd screw something up?

"Nothing, nothing," he replied hastily, before she could launch herself into her Responsibility lecture. She was like his mother- but worse, because she didn't just have suspicions of the things he did when he wasn't under watchful eyes. She had first hand accounts, too. "I, um... I was given dinner duty."

"And you were told not to make something from a box, weren't you?"

"Including pizza," he sighed, nodding unseen confirmation. He heard her giggle, and hoped that was a sign that she would help. "You could stay after, help me congratulate Hikari!"

"So they did it," she asked. He could hear the scraping of wood in the background and knew she had sat herself down at the kitchen table in her own apartment. Unlike him, Sora didn't like standing when she was on the phone. She always said it made her feel awkward, staring at the wall.

_Good thing she has cordless_, he thought. "Yepp! Top three."

"Go them!"

"Yeah. My parents are bringing her home now." Something in the tone of his voice must have suggested something broke out again, because Sora fell silent for a moment, thinking.

"I'll bring over some ohagi I made today for her," she said. "And some meat buns. We can cook up some vegetables at your place... I know your mom has that." He could just imagine the corners of her mouth twitching upwards, trying not to appear so serious. It made Taichi grin himself.

"Thanks Sor," he said brightly. She sighed.

"One day... You're gonna starve to death without me."

"Only if the pizza man stops delivering," he assured her. Even she couldn't _not_ laugh at that. He allowed himself a satisfied smile. Sometimes she let herself get so uptight, and it was hard to make her unwind. But that was his job, as official best friend in the entire universe. Not that he was bragging, of course.

"I'll be over soon," she promised. He thanked her again, and the dial tone sounded, informing him that she'd hung up. Taichi placed the phone back on the receiver and smiled to himself. Well, that was easy. If his mom didn't smack him upside the head for asking Sora to do his dirty work. But he wouldn't have asked if he knew she'd mind.

He took some vegetables out of the fridge and washed them quickly, setting them in a bowl for Sora to decide what to do with before heading into the living room. With nothing left to do on his end of the dinner preparations, the teen threw himself down on the sofa, glad for the last bit of down time he'd have before his parents came home and he had to do damage control. Poor Hikari. He considered texting her a little smiley to keep her upbeat, but he was already so close to going over on his phone plan. Nah, Mission: Cheer Hikari Up would have to wait

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**Author's note: **I'm sorry if you think it's too short, but I didn't wanna rush the story too much. Besides, the rest of it seemed like a "for another time" type of... stuff. Well anyways, as is my new policy, next chapter won't be up till I get at least one or two reviews. Just to see if people are interested in my continuing. It's only fair. I spent a few days ironing this out, it's only right you should have to write a five second "well done" or "this sucks" in return.


	2. Chapter One

**Author's note:** I'm so happy how quickly this story got reviews!! And as promised to one reader, this chapter IS longer than the last one... I sorta broke my own rule and rushed the events in this one, because as I've said before, I'm prone to forgetting about stories if I drag them out too long (i.e. Cracked). Anyways, I know it's a bit morbid and depressing. But it's allowed its typical silver-lining attribute too. Just not yet! - Anyways, yea, so my geographical knowledge of Japan isn't terrific (surprising to you, maybe, but I can't even give directions in my hometown. Never mind a foreign country.) So sorry if the locations just don't make any sense. They _are_ real places. I just think the way I set them up relative to each other is beyond wrong. But as I'm no good at maps, I'll just have to trust my loyal readers to correct me!

Anyways, as always, read and review please!

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Sora arrived maybe 15 minutes later, carrying two bags of stew ingredients. She knew it was one thing she could make before Taichi's mother arrived that he'd eat happily. Of course, she thought he might eat _anything_ if he was hungry, but anything too close to mother nature and he'd start complaining that she was turning into his mother. But of course, to a teenage boy with cooking orders and a time limit, she looked like a copper haired goddess come down from the heavens to save his sorry hide from being burnt to a crisp by an annoyed demi-goddess, also known as Susumo Yagami.

"Thanks a million, Sora," Taichi grinned as she dumped her load on the kitchen counter, which also acted as the divider between the living room and kitchen. Taichi sat at the table, leaning the chair back on its hind legs as he sighed. "Your life is in my hands."

"Almost literally," she said with mock seriousness. She was now roaming around in the fridge, digging around among its contents for carrots and potatoes. "You realize how easy it would be to poison your food? You'd inhale it without a second thought."

"Not now," he mumbled, and the red-head laughed cheerfully. Taichi, however, failed to see the humor in her words. After all, he'd done plenty during their friendship to convince her to kill him if she was prompted... especially that hat incident. She never did get over finding out he had thrown up in it– too late, of course.

"I'm only teasing. Have you invited Takeru," Sora inquired curiously. She had found his mother's wooden cutting board and her knife, which made Taichi slightly weary. He made a mental note to be especially nice to her and not make her angry till dinner was made. Even though it had mellowed out somewhat, he was still uncomfortably aware of how suddenly Sora's temper could flare. And with sharp throw-able objects in the room, he wasn't gonna take chances.

"Why," he asked, blinking twice. Sora sighed and rolled her eyes, and Taichi blinked again. He was missing something, something he assumed was very obvious. Why else would she be looking at him with such a bemused expression?

"Well.. Won't he want to congratulate her," she asked, her impatient air ruined faintly by a small giggle as she began filling a large stainless steel pot with water from the sink. "I mean, they're best friends."

"She'll probably wanna call him and tell him herself. If she hasn't already," Taichi shrugged. He was seriously not understanding what Sora was trying to get at. Hikari had a cell. If she wanted to tell Takeru, that was her job. She had bragging rights, after all. It was her victory.

"You told me," Sora pointed out. But she grinned after a pause. "Then again, you needed me for the victory dinner."

"Exactly," the brunette smirked, lacing his fingers behind his head. After that, the two lapsed into a comfortable silence. They'd been best friends far too long to expect to fill every silence with meaningful conversation. Many of Sora's visits had been long hours spent watching either a soccer match or tennis match on the television set, which was currently making meaningless sound in the background as neither paid any attention to it. They weren't the sort of friends who talked all the time. Though they did get into very heated debates.

Taichi supposed he must have dozed off, because the next thing he knew, the rhythmic sound of chopping had stopped as the phone chirped from its pedestal. Sora was already reaching for it, so Taichi allowed his chair to _thunk!_ into place as she picked it up. He wished he could see her expression, but of course they had a cordless phone and she couldn't exactly move to face him. Her hand was cupped around her elbow, and her other held the phone to her ear. He waited impatiently for her to tell him to get his butt over there as she said into the receiver in a confused tone–

"No...I don't live here. Hold on, please. I'll get Taichi." She half turned, holding the phone away from her as she sought Taichi's chocolate brown eyes. She was biting her lip, looking completely at a loss for words. Taichi half rose before she even told him that someone wished to speak with him.

"Who is it," he asked, curiosity eating away at him as he crossed the few yards that separated them. She merely shrugged, handing him the phone.

"I don't know. But... they sound really serious," she whispered so that her voice wouldn't carry to whoever was on the other line.

"You didn't ask?"

"They just asked for someone from the Yagami residence. I didn't know how to get the question in," Sora mumbled in reply. Sighing, Taichi took the phone from her, balancing it between his ear and shoulder as he leaned his athletic frame against the wall.

"Moshi-moshi, Yagami Taichi speaking," he said seriously. He supposed it wasn't one of his friends, the way Sora had described her short, 30 second bit of conversation. But knowing that still didn't prepare him for the response he received from a stern-sounding male voice on the other end.

"This is Officer Mitsudai Yuki. I'm with the Accident Patrol Unit." He allowed Taichi a shocked moment to let the information sink in before pressing onward, like a bulldozer. "I'm calling on behalf of your family... The driver's ID had the name 'Yagami Susumo', and your name was the first number on her cell phone. Are you a relative?"

"That's my mother," Taichi replied shortly, unable to stop the bubble of panic from rising in his throat. He felt like it had settled there, a rock in the region of his Adam's apple. Sora caught the strangled tone of his voice and took a step towards him, frowning.

_What is it_, she mouthed, but he only shook his head. The voice was speaking again.

"Were you aware that she was with two others?" He sounded like he was about to add more, but Taichi jumped in with "My dad and sister. Did something happen? Are they okay?" The questions rattled off his tongue before he could control himself, and Sora's mouth fell open slightly in alarm. She had less pieces to put together than Taichi, but she could still tell something had happened.

Somehow a quiet, happy night had gone horribly wrong between his mother's phone call and Sora's arrival.

"I'm currently with your.. Sister, you said, at a hospital in Hiroshima. You know where I'm speaking of?"

"Yea. My... my friend works there," Taichi said, trying to keep his voice steady. "Jyou Kido. He's a doctor there."

"Oh, I see." The officer obviously didn't understand why Taichi brought up such an intimate fact.

"Can you do me a favor?" Taichi's voice shook, and Sora put a hand on his arm as though she were afraid she'd have to support him. _Not entirely a slim possibility_, he thought weakly. His free hand was gripping the small table that carried the phone and a notepad for taking messages.

He wondered if his distress was really as transparent on the line as it was to Sora, because the officer's voice was a tone softer when he replied. "Sure. What is it?"

"Can you please request Dr. Kido be the one to look over my family," he asked quietly. Sora was biting her lip now, and he could see she was burning to ask him what had happened. "Tell him I'll be there as soon as I can, but he has to... He knows he has to..." Taichi didn't know how to explain it, but he needed Jyou to be the one. Jyou, who wouldn't treat his family like strangers. Jyou would take care of Hikari and his mother and father as though they were his _own_ family.

"Of course. When you reach the hospital, just check in with the secretary. She'll direct you." And then the line clicked and went dead.

"Tai, what happened? What's wrong? Why were you passing a message to Jyou? Who was that man?" Sora's questions rained down upon him like bombs on a battleground. His voice was emotionless, flat as he recounted the conversation. He saw nothing around him– at least, he had no recollection of the horror on Sora's face growing as he told her what the officer had said when he thought back on that night months later.

"We have to get to the hospital," he murmured, more to himself than to Sora. He'd all but forgotten she was there with him, holding on to his arm when she thought she saw him wobble precariously. "We have to get to Hiroshima. We have to–"

"Hold on, Tai," Sora said quietly. Firmly, but quietly. She knew Taichi. He was a wonderful leader– brave, intelligent, strategic, and aware... unless Hikari was involved. She knew that was when he became thoughtless and reckless, without thinking of the outcome. That was why she took charge, where she normally would have merely offered advice and carried out whatever orders she was given. He looked at her strangely when she stopped him, for he had ignored her and made to walk towards the door, where his keys and shoes were stashed.

"What?" He didn't look like he particularly cared what her answer was, which was why she tightened her supportive hold under his elbow.

"We need to call some people first," she said simply. When he sighed, she took that as a sign of defeat and released his elbow. He remained standing, though he looked out-of-place, lost like a little kid in an unfamiliar place. She felt a pang of sympathy for him. _Hold on Tai_.

She cast a forlorn look at the dinner that she presumed she'd never finish making. Even if she did, she doubted it'd be eaten. Taichi was worrying himself sick, and it sounded like he had very good reason. She had to swallow twice before she could drum up the nerve to dial Yamato's cell phone number, knowing he was practicing. She knew he'd be annoyed to be distracted, and sure enough–

"Taichi, I told you not to call me at this hour," he said sourly, his voice slightly staticy across the telephone line. Curse Caller IDs. Sora was silent for a second, in which a disgruntled Yamato snapped "What did you call me for, Tai?"

"Moshi-moshi, Yamato-kun," she said quietly. A pause on the line, one she took advantage of. He could apologize for snapping off later, though she'd admit to being a bit annoyed if he did. Why should he react any differently to her calling than Taichi, when she knew just as well when his hours were and was twice more likely to remember? "I need a favor from you. And Takeru too. Can you pick him up?"

"No need, he's here..." Yamato said slowly. His confusion was obvious, she didn't need to see his expression. "Sor, what's going on? Is everything okay?" Another pause. "Why're you at Tai's?"

"I was helping him with dinner," she explained with an indifferent shrug. She didn't really see why it mattered, but she didn't linger on the thought. Taichi was shooting longing glances at the door, and she could see him drumming his fingers restlessly against his thumping leg. He wouldn't put his faith in her judgement much longer. "I need you and Takeru to come here. Meet me and Taichi in front of the lobby, okay?"

"Why? Sora, what's going on," Yamato said again. He sounded slightly frantic, and could hear Takeru in the background.

_What's going on? Is something wrong, Matt? Is that Sora? Say hi for me. And tell me what's going on already! Is everything okay?_

Sora smiled. Good old Takeru. She knew she'd be able to rely on those two. And Takeru deserved to be the first to know something was wrong, anyway. Unfortunately, she didn't have much time. Taichi had already stood up, hunting around the apartment for his jacket that he knew Sora would flat-out refuse to let him leave without on such a chilly autumn night. She'd have to explain in the car.

"I'll explain to you when you get here. But please, just get here," she said, pleadingly. A pause.

"I'll be there in five minutes Sora," Yamato promised. "Both of us will." She could hear Takeru's enthusiastic agreement in the background, and could not help but smile despite the fear and anxiety welling up in her throat and chest like a bad cold.

"Arigatou-desu," she murmured gratefully. "Really, Yamato. You don't understand..."

"I know I don't. That's what the car ride is for," he cut across her bluntly. Still, she knew he was smiling, even though he was growing worried with his ignorance as well. "I'll see you soon." The line clicked and went dead before she could open her mouth, and she sighed as she lowered the phone to the receiver.

_I know I will. Thank goodness I will_.

"Taichi, we need to get down to the lobby," Sora called after him as hurried into his room. He came back not even a minute later, stuffing his arms carelessly into the sweater sleeves. She grabbed his keys from the table for him, and slid her own sneakers on while he struggled with his own.

"Why did you call Yamato," he asked, and she detected a sour note in his voice. She blinked, confused. Should she not have?

"He and Takeru are coming to bring us to the hospital," she replied, still blinking. She hurried to shut off the stove, which she had forgotten about in the excitement, while Taichi struggled with his second shoe. Really, the boy was a wreck when he was worried. She couldn't leave him alone even if she had to.

"Why can't we take the train?" He looked up at her with confused eyes, and she smiled a sad smile for him, ruffling his messy hair with her hand before helping him get to his feet.

"C'mon Tai, you know how crowded they are. We might not even _fit_. It's a little slower, but this way we'll be sure to get there with fewer delays." She kept a gentle hold of his hand, even after he had regained his balance. Sora wasn't really sure he understood her reasoning. He'd adopted an uncharacteristic scowl as he pulled open the door. There was obviously no more time to discuss the issue.

"Five minutes. And it takes ten to get down those stupid stairs. Escalator's always broken," Taichi grumbled. He yanked on Sora's arm, causing her to almost fall over as he began running down the hall. Nope. No time at al.

"Kyaa! Taichi," she exclaimed, her voice taking on a slightly whining tone as she struggled not to tumble over and send them both flying across the carpeted hallway. "Slow it down!"

"You're the one who told him five minutes," he reminded her, not bothering to look over his shoulder. Sora mumbled something inaudible, but didn't repeat when he asked her what she said. Sometimes she really hated when Taichi got on his overprotective surge. She knew he'd been this way about her a time or two, too... and wasn't very proud of it, either. Not if it made him like this.

"I'm sure he'd wait a _second_, Tai," she reminded him, panting lightly as they reached the second landing. Taichi was taking two stairs at a time, causing Sora to let go of his hand at the third landing out of frustration. He did wait for her as she raced down the stairs, but she could hear him clicking his tongue impatiently.

"I don't want him to," was his simple answer, and that was that. It was off and running again, with no spare breath to speak till they reached the lobby. The lighting felt unusually bright– the stairs were dimly lit in comparison, and made Sora blink a few times to get rid of the spots before her eyes.

"Oiii." She sighed in aggravation. Apparently deciding she was taking too long, Taichi had already started across the lobby at a sprint, totally upsetting the manager behind the desk and causing a few people coming in to step hurriedly to the side as he flew past. She shook her head and ran after him, murmuring apologies and excuses as she hurried past the confused people. "Taiiichi," she yelled, "wait up!!"

"He's here," Taichi yelled over his shoulder. "Hurry up, or I'll leave you behind."

_He wasn't even this bad when she was sick in the digital world_, she thought angrily. But the anger didn't last long. It was merely a fleeting emotion, because she'd seen the look in his eyes. There was something more, she thought, that he knew... or had thought of.

"Like hell you will," Yamato's smooth, relaxed voice came from a car not five feet from them, slightly to the left. In the settling darkness, Sora could just make out Takeru in the passenger seat, unsmiling. He looked as anxious as his brother, and they didn't even know the story yet, she thought with a sad pang. This would not be a very pleasant drive. "C'mon, get in, will you? It's starting to rain."

And he was right. She hadn't realized it, but water was falling from the dark, clouded sky in slow, thick drops. The speed of the downpour was already picking up at an alarming rate as Taichi, who didn't need telling twice, got in the car and slid across the back seat so Sora wouldn't have to walk around. For some reason, although that had always been Taichi's 'way' with her, it surprised her. That such an insignificant thought had crossed his mind when his baby sister was in trouble.

Maybe it was because Takeru, who was like a surrogate baby brother to him, was looking at him with wide cerulean blue eyes with concern. His mouth was stretched in a tight line, and now that she was sitting in the car with them (Matt revved the engine and pulled into the line of traffic as soon as Sora's door slammed shut.), Sora could see his hand was gripped around his cell phone. That, she thought, was strange. Takeru usually was the one to forget to turn his phone _on_, in contrast to his brother who couldn't remember to shut it _off_ before a show. She cocked her head at him curiously, but he only shook his head. He sighed and sat properly in his seat, for his brother mumbled something about trying to get him in huge trouble with their mother. Relations between Yamato and Natsuko had definitely improved, but... Sora knew there was still tension. Maybe there always would be, just like between her and her own mother.

"So," he said, eyes flickering to the review mirror to better look at his passengers while his fingers drummed on the wheel. "Are you going to explain? I can't exactly get you to where you're going if I don't have a destination." The corner of his mouth twitched, although he didn't find what he said particularly funny.

"We need to get to the hospital," Taichi said tersely. Sora shot him a quick glance, and saw his left hand was gripping the door handle so tightly his knuckles were white in the semi-darkness. He was biting his cheek, she could tell. And his other fist was clamped tight on his lap. "In Hiroshima."

"Hiroshima," Yamato exclaimed questioningly. But he didn't wait, nor seem to expect, an answer as he suddenly switched lanes. He mumbled a curse under his breath as some impatient driver demonstrated a very _rude_ signal with his hand. Thus was Tokyo in rush hour...or rather, that was driving in Tokyo. "Who's there?"

"..." Taichi was silent. But when Sora opened her mouth to answer for him, he shook his head and covered her hand lightly with his. If it weren't for the amount of space between them, it could have been an accident. She was glad Yamato's vision was impaired both by the darkness and by his own choice not to see anything. Ever since their break-up two months ago, inspired largely by Sora's dislike of the crowds of girls always surrounding him and a growing gap in interests. She was glad he was at least trying to be friends like they always had been. Unfortunately, she feared another rift had developed between he and Taichi, who still wasn't entirely sure she was over him.

"Do you want me to—," she began, but he only shook his head again. This was his demon, she realized. It was something _he_ needed to come to terms with, and her helping... really wasn't helping him at all, but rather made it worse.

"No. It's okay. It's..." His hand over hers was trembling, almost as though he were cold. But the night was muggy despite the rain, so Sora knew it was really fear and anguish that made him shake. "...Hikari," he finally said in a low voice. "And my mom and dad."

"What?" Yamato's hands, Sora noticed, had tightened on the wheel and his reflection in the mirror was pale and tight with stress. Takeru had swivelled around despite the strain of his seat belt and Yamato's earlier threat and was staring at first Taichi, then Sora with a horrified expression. "Tai, how? What happened?"

"Accident," he mumbled, just loud enough for Yamato to hear him over the sound of the rain hammering on the roof and windows. "Coming home from the competition in Okinawa."

"I thought the phone went dead," Takeru whispered, looking horrified. He was staring at the phone in his hand, which Sora was faintly surprised hadn't snapped from the pressure with which he had been clinging to it. "I heard arguing, and Hikari sighed, and then... she gasped, and..." He seemed to shudder. "I thought she was about to say something, but the line went dead. I thought her service died, or... or she got told off for distracting her mom from driving." Sora realized that he wasn't talking to them. He was talking to himself, trying to place blame on himself in a situation he could have done nothing in. Yamato, almost casually, reached out one hand to tousle his younger brother's hair.

"How are they," Yamato asked, as though Takeru hadn't spoken. All of them were lost in thought, it seemed. Takeru, terrified he had heard his best friend's final breath... Taichi, terrified that this time he might lose his sister to the bright hospital lights for good. And Sora and Yamato, wondering how they could hold them together till they got to the hospital. It was a long drive, after all... and it seemed it was going to drag on into the late hours of the night, with the rain and the heavy traffic. They exchanged glances in the mirror, and Sora knew that he had, at least for the moment, forgiven her for being weak and walking away.

"Dunno," Taichi sighed. He suddenly sounded old, exhausted. Trapped in a car, unable to run or curse public transportation for delaying his reunion with his family, his body seemed to be sapped of energy. He slumped where he sat, and his tense fist had relaxed tiredly around the door handle. She gave a soft squeeze to the hand on hers, happy when he at least attempted to return the pressure, however half-hearted.

"I'm sure they're fine," Sora said quietly. Yamato nodded, and repeated the words for Takeru's benefit.

"Didn't sound like it," Taichi grumbled, but his words slurred, and Sora frowned at him.

"Have they been arguing a lot lately," Sora asked, her voice still low. She could sense Yamato's eyes on them, although she kept her amber eyes focused on her best friend. Taichi merely shrugged. "You look so tired," she commented, and he sighed again. He seemed like a stranger to her, rather than her lighthearted friend who always managed to make her smile when she cried.

"Dad's been drinking a bit, that's all," he admitted reluctantly. "Mom's not to happy about it. But all parents bicker, some times." Sora went to say something, but bit her lip instead. It didn't need to be spelled out. Yamato and Takeru's parents had bickered a lot before the divorce, all the Chosen knew that. The old Chosen, anyway. Taichi obviously was making a strong effort to avoid staring that fact of the life in the face

"Try get some sleep," Sora suggested. Yamato's attention had been diverted away from them by a low rumble of thunder and a brilliant flash of lightning. Normally she loved storms, but on this night it seemed ominous. Foreboding. An involuntary shiver went down her spine as she watched Taichi relent to the drowsiness about to overwhelm him. _We'll be there soon enough. I hope_.


	3. Chapter Two

**Author's note:** I'm really bad at sticking to my deadlines. Sorry! I don't know why this eluded my muse for so long, but a couple spectacular (and way supporting, thanks guys! ) reviews got me to dig up this file on my thumb disk. And dude, you have no idea how thrilled I was to see it was almost finished! Of course, that might also warrant me a couple slaps for making it so difficult, but shh! I hope it was worth the wait!! Chapter four will not have to wait three months, I promise. Thanks again for all the encouraging reviews that inspired me to actually think to go looking for this story again!

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The rest of the car ride was sleepy, but tense. What usually would have been lightened by Taichi's supportive quips and mock arguments between he and Sora was instead weighed down by his ever-present anxiety, even in sleep. As he curled himself up against the car door, Yamato locked the doors, mumbling something about enough incidents for one day that Sora didn't entirely catch. She shot him a funny look, but otherwise pretended he hadn't spoken.

He had a feeling she intentionally ignored what he was saying. And he thought she had pretty good reason. He wasn't exactly saying anything helpful. He almost snorted. Some best friend he was, it was a wonder he hadn't earned himself another punch. He deserved it, from Taichi. He knew he was being petty. Jealous, and petty, and childish.

He bit his lip and tightened his grip on the steering wheel as the rain came down heavier. He almost considered pulling off to the shoulder till it let up, but knew Taichi would ream him out if they weren't at the hospital soon.

"Just a couple more exits, Yamato," Sora encouraged from behind him. He gave a little jump. They hadn't spoken much, since... well, since around the time the "petty, jealous little kid" blossomed from within.

"I hate this weather," he mumbled, twiddling the wheel slightly under his grip. She nodded. Stupid people decided to come onto the road at _highly_ inconvenient times. "Why don't you take a rest, T.K," he said, this time to his little brother. He used the old nickname he hadn't really gone by since he entered high school, so he was a little surprised he didn't get a mocking glare. The only response he received was a head shake, and a sigh.

"Worry makes the wait longer," Sora reminded him, though it reminded _Yamato_ of a fortune cookie. Good thing it wasn't directed towards him. He might have had to make an inappropriately amusing remark in reply. But the thought was shortly pushed out of his mind, for Takeru had shaken his head in vigorous refusal to both the teens' prompting, and Yamato found himself getting a little annoyed.

"Look, we won't be there for a while. You're not missing anything," he said a little snappily. Takeru's lips formed a thin, white line like their mother's did when she was angry, but he didn't make any vocal reply. Yamato swallowed, staring sourly out at the glistening road. It was a good thing he'd stopped himself before it was too late. If he'd said what he'd been about to, that there was no one to call him with news, he would've gotten out and walked. After punching him in the jaw, of course.

So he let the topic drop, reminding himself to take deep breaths and keep an eye on the road. That it wouldn't do to let his notorious short temper blow its fuse now, especially with Takeru. The kid had enough on his mind as it was, without his big bro losing his cool. Deep breaths, that was the key.

For a long time the only sound in the car was that of Yamato's soft mumble of a curse whenever some driver felt it necessary to cut him off or drive to slow, Takeru's heavy sighing at five minute intervals, Sora's uneasy fidgeting with her windbreaker or the seat belt, and Taichi's sleepy mumbles coming to them from whatever world he dreamed about. Sora sincerely hoped it wasn't another world where his sister and parents were in danger. Especially Hikari. Sora had a very older-sisterly bond with the younger Chosen. She felt a sharp pang somewhere near where her heart was supposed to be whenever she let herself think about it. So soon, she let her steady breathing fill the car as well.

"I think it's this turn," Takeru said, leaning over slightly to nudge Yamato's arm in order to get his attention so he could point at the exit. Yamato frowned, but eventually he nodded his agreement and cut into the lane that led to the exit ramp. Content with doing his part of the job as shotgun rider, Takeru sank back into the seat. But he was loathe to let himself be consumed by his thoughts again. He allowed himself a glance in the rear view mirror at Sora and Taichi, snoozing on opposite ends of the backseat, before he said, "Should I wake them up?"

"They've been stressed," was Yamato's reply. He sounded himself again, contained and almost relaxed. Maybe because he no longer had to convince Sora he wasn't worried as well. It was much easier to fool a little brother who wasn't looking for signs of distress, but rather signs of hope. "We still have ten minutes. Let 'em catch some shut eye."

Takeru nodded without an objection, and returned to gazing moodily out the window. His reflection, dark and water streaked from the nighttime storm that still raged unpleasantly around the car's sturdy frame, looked pale and nervous, like the closer they got to where he wanted to be, the more he wished they could turn around. But Yamato knew his brother, and knew that was an option he wouldn't take even if it were presented to him. Especially when Hikari was involved.

Funny, how they all dropped everything and rushed when it was Hikari in need. Yamato couldn't help but wonder if the same sized greeting committee would have formed had it been any other Chosen had been injured. He liked to think so, but he knew Hikari had managed to worm her way into a special place inside everyone without realizing it. It was her Light, which she sometimes referred to as a double-edged sword.

_But if it can create friends like this, is it really such a bad thing_, Yamato asked himself. One day, he would have to remember to ask her that. Knowing her, she would say that was the only good end of the bargain. A low chuckle escaped despite his best efforts to contain it. For such a usually cheerful girl, she was an awful cynic and way too insecure about her own capabilities.

Takeru was flipping his phone open, then closed again, and repeating the process. He seemed to be struggling with a decision, and- tired of his gaze unwillingly flickering back to the forlorn figure sitting beside him- Yamato asked him if something was bothering him. Besides the whole hospital thing, of course, but that clarification went unsaid and unneeded. Takeru knew what he meant.

"Should I call the others? Daisuke will be really mad if he doesn't hear, won't he?" Especially that Takeru was there before him, but Yamato didn't think he needed to voice that thought either. Brutally blunt he was good at, but it wasn't always a good thing.

"Nah. Wait till we have real information for him," Yamato advised, pausing at a red light. "You know he'll have a million and one questions. Might as well have some answers, right?" He could see Takeru struggling to find an argument– despite their frequent bickering, Yamato knew that the two boys had become pretty good friends since their digital adventure nearly 4 years ago– but, unable to find one, he nodded in defeat.

"I guess. You're right." And with that, the fidgeting and conversation came to a halt. Takeru put his phone away– for the moment, anyway– just as Yamato turned the corner and a large, multi-story building loomed overhead. Takeru stared for a moment in what Yamato knew was not awe. It was fear, terror of what news that building held for them, and for his best friend's predicament. Yamato forced a grim smile and let one hand man the steering wheel while the other patted his brother roughly on the head. "Is that the hospital?"

"Yessir," Yamato said in a would-be casual voice, to a question he thought didn't really need to be answered. But he knew Takeru wanted confirmation, and didn't want to voice his dread. Well, neither did Yamato, and he followed his little brother's lead readily.

"Should I wake them up now," Takeru asked. His voice sounded a bit higher than usual, but Yamato pretended not to notice that, too. A lot of pretending seemed to go into this 'comforting little brother' business he was running tonight.

"Yea, T.K.," Yamato said quietly, turning into the hospital parking lot. He drove straight into the parking garage, thinking his baby had gotten just enough rain for a while yet. Spare her a paint job, and him a soaking. "You do that."

And with that, he killed the engine. The radio was silenced mid-word, and it left an unpleasant atmosphere surrounding them. Yamato couldn't explain it, but the situation seemed much more serious to him now that the music wasn't playing. It was a sad, lonely, scary feeling...One he hadn't felt in a very long time, and had been certain he'd seen the last of.

Yamato stepped out of the car while Takeru twisted around in the passenger seat, nudging Sora (who was closest to him) awake. She blinked sleepily, looking a bit dazed as though she couldn't remember getting in a car. But she rubbed her eyes, and yawned, and when she blinked again it all seemed to come back to her. Amber eyes widened in understanding, and then she unbuckled herself with one hand while she gently shook Taichi awake. Mind you, that was very difficult to do politely. The boy would sleep on, and on, and on unless you didn't wake him up. Especially if he wasn't looking forward to a soccer game.

"Taichi-kun," she said in a quiet voice, not wanting to startle him awake. "Taichi, we're at the hospital."

At the word 'hospital', his entire body went rigid as though it were somehow tuned in to that word. His eyes fluttered open, and all at once he was struggling to unbuckle himself and open the door _and_ sit up properly at the same time. Sora would have been amused to say he was failing horribly as a multi-tasker if it weren't for the situation. She leaned over to undo his buckle as Yamato took pity outside the car and pulled open the door. Unfortunately, Taichi nearly toppled out of the car due to their timing. Both cast him apologetic grins as Yamato helped his best friend to his feet and Sora and Takeru stepped out of the car. A gentle _click_ told them Yamato had locked the doors via a small controller he had concealed in his khaki pockets.

"Let's go," he said quietly, and quite unnecessarily. Taichi was already a good length ahead of them, and the three he left behind exchanged grim looks before jogging after him, complaining for him to slow down and wait for them. And he did, briefly. The second they were on his heels, he set off at a sprint again, and as a result they were all breathing heavily by the time Taichi barged through the automatic doors and jogged his way to the secretary's desk. Sora, Yamato, and Takeru all hovered uncertainly a few feet behind him– just within listening distance, without feeling intrusive or uncomfortable.

"....Officer Mitsudai," Taichi was saying when they joined him. It must have been the end of the sentence, though, because the secretary was nodding and waving to someone across the lobby. Sora turned her head just in time to see a sturdily built man with a clean shave and short-cropped hair in a navy blue police uniform stand, stretch unobtrusively, and begin navigating his way way towards the desk.

"So you're the brother," the secretary asked, and they all saw Taichi nod mutely. It seemed a little too much for him to actually confirm it out loud. Yamato placed a hand on Takeru's shoulder, and he must've expected it to be shrugged off, for his eyebrows rose faintly in surprise when it wasn't.

"Poor Tai," Sora mumbled sympathetically, earning herself a nod from the brothers. They saw none of the courageous leader they'd come to think of him as. His shoulders, usually proud and determined, were slumped and his hands were gripping the desk edge almost as though it were an accident. He was speaking in a low, urgent hiss of a whisper that none of them could make out. He must have asked about his family's condition, though, because the secretary's expression turned sympathetic.... much more so than before, anyway. But before she could do much more than open her mouth to answer, the officer she'd summoned over had placed a hand on Taichi's shoulder, causing the teen to jump in surprise.

"You must be Taichi, then. We spoke on the phone," said a rich tenor voice. Taichi turned to face him, and finally his friends had a clear view of his face. It was guarded now, not like it had been in the car. They all knew he disliked hospitals. It really wasn't a secret– they reminded him too much of his childhood mistakes to ever make him feel at home. But he obviously didn't want this man to think he had fallen apart. No... that wasn't Taichi's way, anyways. Hold it together as long as possible, find out the details, and only surrender to the fear when you can't think of anything else to try. _That_ was Taichi's code. They all knew how he operated, except this policeman.

"Are my parents okay," Taichi asked after a moment, during which he had been apparently inspecting the officer. His eyes had been narrowed, just enough for them to know he was calculating this man in his mind. Taichi wasn't a highly distrustful person, till it came to the well being of his loved ones. "And my sister. What about Hikari?" Questions, fired at the cop like bombs from a canon ball. At the mention of Hikari, Takeru automatically moved towards the huddle, leaving Yamato and Sora no choice but to follow.

"Er, I'd rather...." An uncertain look crossed over Mitsudai's features as they saw his dark brown eyes flicker over to the trio, who were conspicuously listening in now. Taichi shook his head, impatient.

"They're okay. They're with me. They're 'family' too," Taichi babbled. Family. A loose term, but still fairly accurate concerning the Chosen. They looked after each other, protected and defended each other, and never left another behind. That, thought Sora, was what family was about, wasn't it? Still, the cop looked uncertain.

Taichi didn't give him a chance to debate.

"You contacted Dr. Kido, didn't you?" How weird it sounded, to hear Jyou referred to as that after so long of him just being 'Jyou'. "You did promise," Taichi reminded him. There was an edge to his voice his friends had rarely heard, making them exchange quick, nervous glances.

A nod of confirmation, and Taichi's face relaxed ever so slightly. "I did. Your sister is fine. But I'll leave it to your friend, the doctor, to give you the specifics. I'm not qualified to do that. "

None of them missed the omission of news on his parents. Taichi tensed again, his hands in fists in his jacket pockets. Sora took a cautious step forward, but Yamato put a hand on her shoulder and shook his head.

_Not yet_, he seemed to be saying to her. _Soon, but not yet_. This was still Taichi's demon.

"And my parents?" His voice was tense, and it seemed to take every ounce of Taichi's control to keep it even.

Silence. "I don't know how to say this,..." Mitsudai looked extremely uncomfortable. He removed his uniform cap, and was fumbling with it distractedly in his hands. Sora saw Yamato and Takeru exchange nervous glances. But he was spared the trouble of replying, for a familiar voice said from behind them:

"I'll take care of that, Officer. Don't worry." As a unit, the four of them plus Mitsudai turned to see Jyou Kido striding towards them, looking prim and proper as ever in the gleaming white overcoat of a doctor. "C'mon, guys, I'll take you to Hikari-chan."

Taichi nodded slowly, looking slightly nauseous. Takeru looked eager, though it was a nervous anxiousness that caused him to hover just a few inches behind Jyou and Taichi. Yamato kept throwing out an arm to hold him back, reminding him on several occasions as they were guided down the winding corridors of the hospital that he'd go flying if Taichi stopped walking suddenly, and for goodness sake couldn't he give the guy some air?

It all seemed so normal. Except for Taichi. Although she wanted to, Sora was somewhat reluctant to let herself fall into step with Taichi. Jyou was the leader now. The weight had shifted. Her place was in the support crew, now. She let out a sigh and ran a hand through her hair. She felt as though it'd been hours, when it had maybe only been one or two since the fateful call had been made.

"Just in here guys. I'll... I'll, you know, tell you everything when we're alone." Taichi grimaced at Jyou's tone. Tension strained the casual tone of his voice. He'd never been as good of a liar as Yamato or even Taichi could sometimes be. It was a lot harder for him to keep things airy and light when there was cause for alarm; He always had been the first one prone to panic. Sora gently slid her arm through Taichi's as he fell behind Jyou so they could file into the room. Somehow, that felt right, although she carefully averted her eyes from Yamato's as she did so. She could support him like this, carry his weight if he stumbled...

"Taichi, there's no easy way to say this... but your parents... They didn't, you know. They didn't make it." Jyou swallowed as Taichi swayed dangerously on his feet. He didn't have a pretense to keep up without an audience. No one required his strength. Takeru sat down heavily on the empty hospital bed. Jyou had obviously decided to break the mystery one question at a time, knowing how Taichi would react to the news. Sora led Taichi to the bed with Yamato's help, though Taichi didn't seem to have noticed. His eyes were oddly bright, and a single tear burned a trail down his cheek. She almost never saw Taichi cry. It unnerved her, and she tightened her hold around him to comfort himself as much as her.

Like this, she could hold the pieces together as his world crumbled around him.


	4. Chapter Three

**Author's note:** I think I'm not going to promise when updates will be anymore. Let's just say it's been a really stressful, hectic year and I'm sorry. But wow, twenty six reviews for three chapters! That's a nice welcome back, and how could I _not_ get right back to writing after seeing that? Thank you all so much for your continuous support, and I hope the delay didn't lose me any dear readers. After all, a writer is nothing without you. I'm sorry this chapter is kind of bland compared to the others. Trying to get back into the swing of the story and personalities is harder than I expected. Plus, I've never written Jyou-centric before. So this is a first for me.

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"I'm really sorry Taichi." Good ol' Jyou, he wanted so badly to be able to fix everything. He was, after all, the oldest Chosen, at least from the Japanese group. And he was a doctor! It was an insanely suffocating feeling to be so completely useless, helpless. It was a feeling he hadn't felt the full intensity of since his early days in the Digital World, and he couldn't say he was welcoming it like an old friend. More like damning its existence, willing things to make sense again. When things made sense, logic could solve everything without fail. But now? The world was upside down, and all anyone could do was hold on for dear life. Taichi's grip was slipping, and his parents had already been forced to let go.

"What about Hikari, though?" Trust Takeru to search desperately for that silver lining, the small sliver of hope when everything seemed miserable, lost and desolate. His eyes were bright with moisture, but the tears weren't falling yet. Jyou didn't think it would take very much to send them over the edge though. Takeru spent much of his free time at the Yagami residence, when he wasn't with Daisuke and Ken. It wasn't difficult at all to believe that he had been close to either, if not both, of Taichi and Hikari's parents. But he would hold himself together before his childhood heroes found in his brother and Taichi, at least until Jyou told them about Hikari.

Jyou took a deep breath and sighed. "Hikari's alive," he said carefully, but that was good enough news in light of the fate that had fallen upon her parents, and Sora exhaled in relief and closed her eyes. Even Yamato seemed to release a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, and Takeru's face seemed to... relax, like his worst fears had been proved to be little more than a bad dream.

Jyou wished he shared their utter relief, except Taichi who barely seemed to be connected to them anymore. Sora's hand was gripping Taichi's shoulder as she stood beside him, as if that was keeping him tied to his shaky reality. Jyou almost wondered if it would be kinder to let their leader go, but bit the words back. Tactlessness wasn't his area, after all. And he wouldn't be the one to voice thoughts like that. He was the doctor here. He was the one they were all looking expectantly towards, pressure he was largely unaccustomed to from his friends.

"Alive." It was, of course, Yamato who caught the careful choice of words. Well, Jyou thought, annoying as it was, he hadn't expected any less. Yamato was an artist, a musician who made a living off horrible circumstances spun into beautiful words. He frowned at Jyou as the others let Yamato's suspicious tone sink into their heads, and slowly Sora and Takeru's, even Taichi's distant eyes were all focused on Jyou, who shifted his weight nervously to his other foot.

"How bad," Sora whispered, opening her eyes. They were wide, and fearful of Jyou's answer. Takeru actually shook, and Yamato put a protective arm around his baby brother's shoulders. Takeru looked like he considered shrugging it off, and reconsidered. Sometimes it was nice, Jyou thought, to be able to accept the support of others. He wished he could lean on someone else right then, but of course... that wouldn't happen. Sometimes you had to carry the weight by yourself, and it really sucked. But it came with the territory, he supposed, just like his brother had always said. Breaking the news was the worst part, unless they were leaving the hospital unscathed.

"She, well," Jyou hesitated as Taichi fixed him with a hard stare, unblinking as Jyou fumbled to find the words he was looking for, "She has a concussion, moderately serious. Skull fracture. A couple broken ribs, a hairline fracture in her arm... She'll be hanging out for a while," Jyou concluded, running a flustered hand through his hair as Taichi blanched. Sora was biting her lower lip. Even Yamato, cold distant Yamato, looked fairly nauseated as they imagined it. "She's a little banged up, the nurses haven't had a chance to totally scrub her down, so she looks a little worse than she is."

It was clear from Takeru's expression that he, at least found that extremely difficult to imagine. He was still shaking, although he hadn't cried. Jyou fought the bizarre urge to refer to him as a 'big boy'. Seriously, it had been way too long since any of them could call him that and have it considered a compliment by any stretch of the imagination. Jyou could honestly just imagine the sort of glare he'd get, but at least it would be something that resembled their norm. This... this was not it. When they were gathered like this, serious and quiet, it was because they were scheming up ways to tackle a demon, not to come to grips with the fact that they couldn't prevent everything. That, he thought, was really hard medicine to swallow.

"But can we see her," Takeru demanded. Taichi looked at Takeru strangely, like he ddin't understand the request. Jyou desperately hoped that this wasn't going to be the new Taichi. Maybe it was selfish of him, all things considered, but he didn't think he could handle this Taichi. This Taichi was spiritless and deflated and... Well, Jyou shook his head and straightened his shoulders. He'd worry about that later. But right now, that was only normal, right? None the less, he and Sora exchanged worried glances before Jyou nodded and smiled a small smile towards Takeru.

"Yea. You can see her." Jyou nodded across the room, and all heads turned to see what Jyou was looking at. For the first time, they all noticed a curtain pulled all the way closed, hiding whatever was behind it from view. A soft, rhythmic beeping came from behind the curtain, and for the first time Taichi looked downright uncomfortable, rocking between sprinting for the curtain and the door. Jyou didn't really blame him. He hadn't exactly painted a very pretty picture for them, had he?

"Is she..." Sora let the thought dwindle, as though she wasn't sure what exactly she wanted to confirm, but Jyou nodded and filled in the blank for her.

"Sleeping, yea. They had her pretty sedated, but..." He shrugged and crossed the room to pull back the curtain. Taichi followed him as though there were strings connecting him to Jyou, like he was unable to sit still once Jyou moved closer to his sister. But when the curtain was drawn back, he almost begged Jyou to close it again. He would've sworn that bruised, but otherwise pale face connected to tubes and wrapped in a protective wrap because of the skull fracture, a thin white cover pulled up to her chin to keep the spring chill away. Jyou heard Takeru gasp, and turned to see him wrenching himself from Yamato's vice grip around his shoulders to hurry beside Taichi, who seemed frozen to the spot.

"Taichi," Sora murmured quietly, and he jerked, like he'd been yanked out of a world deep inside his own mind. His eyes looked tortured, Jyou thought, and he cringed away from them. For a wild second, he wished he wasn't the doctor Taichi requested. Demanded, rather. Taichi rarely requested when it came to Hikari. Remember Jyou? He felt the bizarre urge to smile with nostalgia, but it wasn't the time. He had a duty to his friends, the ones who had dragged him out of his shell. Well, now he had to make sure nothing more happened to force Taichi farther into his own, for the sake of his sanity as well as everyone else's.

"Huh?"

_He speaks_, Jyou thought, but he kept it to himself. Truth be told, the sound of Taichi's voice, however sleepy and distant it sounded, was a relief. He just sounded off his game, like he'd lost the playoffs and dropped his food in the bleachers and got turned down by a crush all in the same hour. That not-quite-sure-life-is-real feeling you get when life happens to really, really suck. And Jyou had to admit, Taichi's life definitely fit into that category at the moment.

"Do you want us to wait outside," she asked uncertainly. Yamato nodded in agreement, glaring silently at Takeru when he opened his mouth to argue. He shut it again, if not extremely reluctantly. He cast Hikari's sleeping form a longing look. If Taichi let him have his way, Jyou had no doubt that he'd sit in one of the bedside chairs day and night till she woke up.

Taichi shrugged. "It doesn't matter." And the thing was, he sounded like he really meant it. Whether they were there, or weren't there, meant as little to him as the difference between twilight and dusk. But Jyou was suddenly nervous about leaving him alone with no one but his sleeping sister to keep an eye on him. He glanced at Sora and Yamato, then Takeru and Taichi before fidgeting with his overcoat.

"Sora, Yamato, how about we... give Taichi and Takeru some air." He raised his eyebrows meaningfully at Takeru and gestured for him to come over to him. He looked confused, but he obeyed. When Jyou spoke to him, it was in a voice so low that Takeru had to lean in closer just to hear him properly. "Keep an eye on him. And if she wakes up, or Taichi needs help, come get us. We'll be right down the hall; there's a waiting room there." Jyou pointed outside the door, and Takeru nodded. Jyou ruffled his hair, an action that even an upset Takeru made a face at, and smiled a small, sad smile. "Don't let him out of your sight."

"Will do," Takeru said in a would-be cheerful voice, raising his hand in a salute. Jyou smiled a wry smile. They needed that enthusiasm. But then Takeru's smile faltered and he let his hand fall to his side, and Jyou could see that he was struggling to find the willpower to say what was really on his mind. Jyou put a hand on his shoulder.

"Hikari-chan will be fine. She's getting the best." He gave Takeru a reassuring smile and the younger Chosen nodded slowly once, and then twice. The second nod was quicker, more enthusiastic. He was willing himself to believe it. _Come on, Takeru. Hope..._

"Mkay. Alright. I'll stay with Tai," Takeru agreed with a smile. "And you'll make sure they stay civil?" He sounded worried, and Jyou blinked, looking confused for a moment. And then the confusion cleared away as he remembered the break up scene. How in the digital world could he have forgotten that?

"I think I can manage," he said dryly. And Takeru chuckled a chuckle that was equally dry, fairly humorless. It was never fun when close friends, you know, stopped being close friends. Jyou almost considered telling Sora to take the spot he'd assured Takeru, but Takeru needed to be with Hikari too, and it wouldn't help her new friendship with Yamato if she was alone with Taichi, and he got overly jealous of it. Not that Jyou thought there was anything to be jealous of, given the circumstances, but... He wasn't a guy who'd been hopelessly in love, either. It did weird things to people, at any rate. "Go on then."

He pushed Takeru gently in the direction of Hikari's bed, and after a couple of slow, hesitant steps, he picked up his pace and by the time he reached the second bedside chair, he was practically jogging. Taichi was still standing beside the bed, looking down at his baby sister as though he wasn't quite seeing her, like some horrible nightmare. Takeru heard him say "Sit down, Tai. It might be a while. Wanna ask for some food or something?" And although Jyou had never heard Taichi turn down food before, he must have done, because then Takeru sighed, and quiet fell over the room.

The matter of Taichi and Hikari's supervision taken care of, Jyou the Doctor slipped out of the room, leaving the door slightly ajar, you know, just in case. He didn't trust that they could hear a shout or a scream through closed doors, no matter what his supervisor said. And the hall way was a dead end hall, leading to nothing but a cleaning supply closet and a laundry room. From his position in the waiting room, he'd see everyone who came through, so he was fairly positive about the safety of the patients in this hall. Many of the rooms just then were empty, at any rate.

Sora and Yamato were sitting exactly two seats away from each other when Jyou stepped into the waiting room. Sora was staring at her hands, and attempting to look extremely fascinated by the callouses from Tennis and random other activities. And Yamato was staring at the opposite wall, looking determinedly cool-headed, though Jyou wasn't entirely sure that was the case.

"Guess we should let Takeru call the others, huh," Yamato asked as Jyou took the seat between them. Jyou nodded silently, and Yamato sighed and pulled his cell phone from his pocket. "I'm not getting up again. I'll text him."

"I'll call Mimi," Sora offered quietly. Jyou couldn't really imagine how awkward being alone in a fairly dimly lit waiting room must have been, but he could imagine that it had been awkward at least a bit. It made him feel kinda bad that he had to get up in a minute. There were, after all, other patients under his name now besides Hikari. Just because she was a dear friend, he couldn't neglect her. He'd just be proving that doctors shouldn't take care of someone they were personally close with.

"Fine." Yamato offered neither encouragement nor disapproval, and Sora frowned at him. She said nothing else.

"Will you two play nice," Jyou demanded, though he tried to keep his tone friendly. They both looked confused, and then offended at his implications.

"We are," Yamato argued heatedly. Sora sighed.

"I'll be back in an hour after my rounds," Jyou said with a stretch as he got back to his feet. He glanced at the door. "Keep an eye on Taichi every once in a while, kay?"

"Takeru too," Yamato put in, and Jyou nodded. Mind, he was less worried about Takeru than Taichi, but still. Yamato had a point. Takeru had to be more torn up and upset than he was letting show, typical of him. Jyou had taken a couple steps towards the door, feeling there was nothing left to say, when Yamato called his name. "Hey, Jyou..."

He turned to face him, glasses glinting strangely as the light hit them. "Yea?"

"Think everything will be okay?"

It was a strange question, from Yamato. He was the one who went 'things will be fine' and stormed on while the others hemmed and hawed and fretted. He would have expected it from Sora, but maybe he was asking it for her. She was staring at her hands again, lower lip quivering. She'd known the Yagamis since early childhood. Surely, this was hitting her nearly as hard as Taichi, although she could at least keep her wits about her. And at that thought, Jyou's mind's eye conjured up the image of Takeru talking Taichi into sitting down, Taichi's brown eyes tortured, not quite seeing anything in front of him. He was like a lost little kid without a home, a man without a country. He had nothing but the remnants of a flag, a battered and unconscious Hikari. And Jyou hadn't told them that the hospital couldn't determine the extent of her injuries till she woke up, and they could monitor her brain activity. But Jyou couldn't add that to the long list of ills that night. He just couldn't.

"No," Jyou replied, turning away from his old friends and heading for the door again. "Not everything."


	5. Chapter Four

**Author's note:** I think someone should be very proud of me. I'm kickin' my arse into gear, little by little. Sorry if I'm not updating the stories you want (I'm sort of putting From You To Me, for example, on the back burner till I get my muse back), but on the upside I'm trying to actually tie up stories that I didn't realize I started a year ago. That's just sad. So! I'm trying to redeem myself a little. And thanks so much to those of the likes of **MysticalTears**, and several others whose words of encouragement and enthusiasm brought my love of fanfiction writing back. I don't remember where I read it, but someone _somewhere_ said something along the lines of fanfiction being the last appreciated form of writing, because FF writers work hard on their stories and will never receive anything but praise for it. Thanks so much, you guys. I really did miss all of you on . And don't worry, Takeru's role will be much less filler-chapterish in the future. I have plans for him.

* * *

The room was silent, save for the sound of Hikari's labored breathing and the steady _beep...beep...beep_ emitted by the machine monitoring her condition. Takeru didn't know where to look. Her face troubled him, bruised a nasty purplish black over her right eye and cheek, her lip bloody and a little bit swollen. Her hair was matted to her forehead, but before Takeru could push it back, Taichi did.

Takeru had never been _afraid_ to be alone with Taichi before. As a little kid, he had admired Taichi like another big brother. And as he grew older, he became an equal, a friend. After all, his best friend was Taichi's little sister. And Taichi's best friend was, or had been at some point, Takeru's big brother. They were connected, intertwined by friendship and fate, if you believed in that. And Takeru did. He believed Fate brought the Chosen together, created friends out of their team. But what did Fate have against Taichi and Hikari's parents?

For the first time since Takeru could remember, he was truly afraid of being alone with Taichi right now. He didn't know what to say, what not to say, what to do or what to think. This wasn't the brave leader, the idol, the "big brother" Takeru could remember. Even when he'd been worrying himself sick over Hikari in the Digital World, he'd spoken. He'd looked alive, he'd been active and running towards a goal. Never before could Takeru remember Taichi being... still, silent. This was Taichi grieving, and Takeru wished there was something he could do to take it away.

"Hikari-chan," Takeru murmured. Taichi didn't seem to be paying any attention to him, and so he scooted his chair a little closer to the bed and reached for her hand. He touched it, gingerly at first, but it didn't seem as bruised and battered as the rest of what was visible to them, and so he held it with a little more firmness, more confidence. She had been on the phone with him. If she hadn't been, maybe she would've had time to throw her arms up, protect her face, get a grip so that she wouldn't have been tossed around the back seat like a rag doll... His vision blurred, and he shook his head as a sob threatened to choke him. If it would've made a difference, he'd never know. But at least she was alive. At least she'd be okay.

But that didn't ease the feeling of guilt that tore at his heart and lungs as he sat beside his best friend's hospital bed. He'd made a promise to protect her, and when the very worst happened he wasn't there. He could've gone to the tournament, maybe, or... or... The thoughts were endless now, clarified by the curse of twenty-twenty hindsight. He let his hair fall into his eyes. No matter how upset Taichi was, Takeru wouldn't allow him to see him upset. He wouldn't cry, and make it worse. He'd failed in protecting his very best friend, but he could maybe help her brother, somehow.

"Takeru..." Takeru jumped at the sound of Taichi's voice. He sounded haunted, and tired, and... Not like himself at all. He barely recognized it, except that no one else was in the room.

"Yea Tai?" He tried to sound cheerful, no teary eyes or choking sobs. Just a friend, like this was a normal hospital visit. Like she'd caught a cold again... And fallen down a flight of stairs in the process. He frowned. Okay, so it was hard to pretend it was normal. But it was hard to look upset too. It was hard to think 'this might be really bad'. It was against his nature to think anything but 'yea this is bad, but it could be worse and it isn't'. Like, Hikari was alive. Stable. Breathing. Battered, but she'd wake up. He squeezed her hand. She had to wake up.

"Koushiro. Could you call him?" His voice was totally monotonous, like he had totally used up his supply of emotion. It hurt, listening to his voice. Did Yamato ever get like this when he was sick, or hurt, he wondered? He didn't know. He didn't want to know, really. He didn't want that look, that voice, to take over his brother's familiar features. It was bad enough on Taichi. It was more than bad enough. It was torture just to watch.

But he couldn't make himself look away either. It was like, those heart wrenching movie scenes that make you cry and scream and throw yourself to the floor, but you couldn't stop the movie. And he couldn't look away anyway, because Hikari wouldn't want Taichi to do this to himself, and so Takeru had to stop him. He had to figure out how, and he could only do that if he endured. But it hurt. It hurt more than seeing Hikari hooked up to machines.

"Uh, sure." Takeru couldn't imagine why he should call Koushiro first, why he'd be requested specifically, but he wasn't going to deny Taichi either. He pulled out his cell phone, ignoring the very blatant hospital rule of keeping phones off inside. Jyou would only yell at him if it interfered with the machines, and he was pretty sure the affect was vice versa.

"He always gets mad that he's the last to know. And he lives the closest." When Takeru continued to look confused, Taichi murmured "Sora left food on the stove. It's gonna go bad if it's left out." Somehow, Takeru felt like Taichi wasn't really talking about the food. Or rather, the food meant more than just food. But he wasn't going to ask questions. He just flipped his phone open and began scrolling through his phone book for Koushiro's number.

"Sure thing, Taichi." If all he was asking for was a simple phone call, Takeru would be damned if he was the one to deny it to him. He listened to the phone ring, accidentally in accordance with the melodic beeping of the machines until there was a click on the other end, and a very formal-sounding voice saying "You've reached Izumi Koushiro." And suddenly, Takeru's tongue felt glued to the roof of his mouth. He didn't want to explain, moreso while Taichi was sitting right next to him, staring at his sister like he couldn't see her properly.

"Is anyone there?" Koushiro's voice sounded unsure, and a little annoyed. He probably thought it was a crank call. Takeru cleared his throat and turned away from Taichi. This would be so much easier if he couldn't see his face.

"Hi Koushiro," Takeru said. And then the tone of voice on the other line wasn't quite so harsh, or formal, but the voice of an old friend. An old friend who insisted on _older_ nicknames.

"T.K!" There was a pause, and Takeru could picture their friend in his mind's eye, frowning as something clicked in his mind. "What's wrong?"

He cringed, and sighed. He thought he'd played it off casually enough, but he supposed not. But then, it was hard to trick old friends, no matter how close you were or weren't. And Koushiro was particularly observant, even if at times he could seem detached from the rest of the reality. They all blamed that on his computer, though. It was a difficult task to pry him away from the computer, no matter the situation.

"We're, um, at the hospital. In Hiroshima," he added. He heard Koushiro take a deep breath, prepared to throw him a hundred questions a minute, but Takeru quickly added "There was an accident. Hikari's hurt pretty bad." He winced and looked at Taichi. He was rigged in his chair, listening to every word. And it looked painful.

"Was Tai in the car? Is he okay?"

"No, he wasn't." As for the second question, Takeru wasn't sure how to answer, so he skipped it altogether and said "His parents were. They... well." He sighed, and Koushiro seemed to catch his meaning, for he mimicked Takeru's sigh. There was a long stretch of silence.

"Wow." He sounded shocked, numb. Takeru knew the feeling, but didn't say anything about it. Tai was gripping the arm rests of the chair so tightly his knuckles were white.

"Yea. Um, Taichi forgot some food on the stove when he and Sora left. He was hoping you could put it away, and stuff," Takeru finished somewhat lamely. He didn't want to talk about the accident. It felt kind of, I dunno, tactless, he thought. Taichi relaxed, just slightly. His knuckles were still white, but his shoulders weren't quite so stiff. Still, Takeru felt compelled to end the conversation as quickly as possible.

"No problem," Koushiro said quickly. There was a shuffling in the background, and some weird computer beepy sound that Takeru assumed was Koushiro powering down his baby. "Anything else?"

"Erm." Takeru glanced at Taichi, and shook his head. Remembering then that Koushiro couldn't see the movement, he added, "Nah. I don't think so. I'll call you if there's any news," Takeru promised, and they both said goodbye and hung up.

The soft beeping of the machines sounded a tenfold louder than before as his voice died and the room relapsed into silence. Takeru couldn't stand it. He didn't want the silence, he didn't want his thoughts to fill it, and if that meant annoying Taichi well then that was that. Takeru slipped dropped his phone into his lap and stretched his arms overhead. It was moments like this he felt strangely grateful that he was excellent at small talk. After all, someone had to fill the awkward silence when his mom began bringing a boyfriend to dinner sometimes.

"I didn't get to tell Hikari on the phone, but I got the editor's position on the yearbook committee." Takeru grinned, subtly ignoring the strange look Taichi fixed him with, as though the older Chosen couldn't quite be hearing him right. If Taichi was like him, Takeru reasoned, he needed a distraction from his thoughts. There'd be long, sleepless nights to let those run rampant. But they weren't any help right now. Of that he was positive, even if Taichi apparently didn't think so. He was sure if Yamato was the one babbling instead of him, Taichi would've told him to shove it already. "She'll be happy," he said. The word choice seemed casual, but he was determined to make it clear he believed Hikari would be fine. She had to be. "She got one of the candid photographer slots. We'll be working together."

"Huh."

"Yepp." Without the expressed 'shut the hell up' he was waiting for, Takeru took the absence of it to mean he was free to continue babbling on. Even if it was nothing exactly important, it made him feel better. Think about the good stuff. Happy thoughts, you know? As long as there were good things to focus on, Takeru's theory was that the bad stuff would be a little more bearable. Maybe not a lot more, but a little bit. And every little bit counted. Beggers couldn't be choosers, or something along those lines anyway. "Oh, Koushiro said he had it covered. The food, anyway." He chuckled at the pun, accidental as it was. "I guess he'll probably call Miyako and Iori, but I figure I'll text Daisuke later. I mean, unless you want me to call him right now. Might be kind of dangerous to my ear drums." It was meant to be a joke, but Takeru winced.

Taichi shrugged. "No. That's fine."

"I'll just text him in a bit. I think that's safer." Takeru decided. And Taichi didn't say anything. "You know, I wonder--" He was stupidly going to say he wondered if any of the girls on Hikari's dance team knew about the accident, but he highly doubted it. But luckily, Taichi had cut him off before he had the stupid question could seize the opportunity to blurt itself out.

"TK, why don't you take a walk," Taichi asked, eyebrows raised just slightly. Part of Takeru felt like he should be offended at being dismissed, but the other half shrugged it off and smiled. It was a brave face.

"Nope. Promised Jyou I'd stay here," he said stubbornly. He wasn't going to pretend it was a secret; Taichi wasn't as unobservant as people liked to think he was. He just got a little reckless sometimes, and people took that to mean he was a complete idiot. It wasn't anything close to the truth. And anyway, in Takeru's mind, he'd already broken one promise that night. He hadn't protected Hikari. He wasn't going to break his promise to Jyou, too. No way in hell.

"Of course you did." Taichi muttered and ran his hand over his face, but Takeru pretended not to notice. It was probably a smart move, actually. Taichi didn't sound like he was in the best mood, and Takeru didn't really bame him. A cheerful "Yepp" probably would have gotten him stabbed with a scapel or something... Not that Takeru knew where the scalpel would come from, but he didn't doubt that Taichi would find one if he actually wanted to.

_Come on, Hikari_, Takeru pleaded silently as he gave her hand a gentle squeeze. Her presence usually made things better; she always knew what to say, what to do, how to dispel the tension and cast off the anxiety. Or maybe she just held it in herself, to spare the rest of them from it. But this, this was new. This was something none of them knew how to cope with, and they didn't have patient, quiet Hikari holding their hands and whispering "It'll be okay". That was their job, this time, but it sounded wrong in any other voice.

"Come on, Hikari." He didn't even notice that he had spoken the thought outloud, and was oblivious to Taichi's sharp look as Takeru's quiet whisper broke the silence. It sounded louder than it really was, the only sound in the room besides the dripping of the IV and the rhythmic beeping. It seemed to be the only thing connecting Takeru to the room, instead of letting his mind float away to only a few hours before, when Hikari had been laughing. Or at least, she had been laughing until her parents started bickering in the front seat. He hadn't heard it at first, hadn't been able to pinpoint what had made the ecstatic Hikari suddenly go quiet. But then it had gotten louder, and quieter again, and Hikari had told him that her mom was calling Taichi, she'd be home soon.

"Oi, Takeru." The blond jumped at the sound of his brother's voice. He dropped Hikari's hand as though it were forbidden to touch, despite the fact that Taichi hadn't said a word. But Yamato was different; Takeru felt like Yamato would tease him about it and never let it drop. It was a silly fear, probably, but you know. Get Yamato in the right mood and... Well.

"Yeah Matt?" Was it just him, or did his voice sound disgustingly inappropriately _chipper_, considering his best friend was unconscious and her parents were dead and her brother was totally unresponsive to Sora putting her hands on his shoulders, which somehow seemed to be the most disturbing thing at all. Takeru averted his eyes. It's hard to see your childhood hero hurting.

"Koushiro's on his way; he just texted me. Can you meet him in the lobby?" It wasn't an instruction, or a command, but to Takeru it certainly felt like one. There was a sort of clipped tone to his brother's low voice (like the voice you used around someone on their death bed, but Hikari wasn't... She _wasn't_.) that implied that he really shouldn't argue with him, and for once Takeru didn't. He didn't want to leave Hikari though. He stood up from his chair quickly enough, but he stood looking down at the bed for a long moment before Yamato said casually, "I don't think she's going anywhere. Oh, Tai, Jyou said he'd be back after his rounds. Might be a while." It was like an after thought, like the first thing he said hadn't made everybody in the room wince, even him a little bit. That was just like Yamato. Either overreact, or under react.

"Right. Lobby. That works, I need to call Daisuke." That same strange, chipper voice came out. It didn't sound right, it didn't sound like _Takeru's_ voice, but he knew the words were his. Sora smiled at him, a strained but encouraging smile. Taichi frowned, but not at Takeru. He was looking at Hikari's face. Yamato was headed for the chair Takeru had abandoned, and tousled Takeru's hair as he passed. Takeru bit his lip, but didn't say anything. Before he realized it, he had backtracked to the lobby; if he focused on looking for Koushiro and remembering to call Daisuke, he didn't think about why he was calling him until there was a click on the other line, and a voice spoke through the phone.

"Takeru?"

Caller ID was a wonderful thing. It made the time-old "hello" totaly dated in today's world, apparently.

"Yeah. Hey, Daisuke, there's something I need to tell you..."


	6. Chapter Five

**Author's note:** You guys are great. I don't deserve a fanbase, lol. But I'm so glad so many people are enjoying this story (36 reviews last time I checked!), certainly more than have ever followed my fanfics before. I mean, it sort of confirms my suspicion that fans (myself included) are a bit sadistic towards our favorite charries, but the good news is that there is a sort of happy ending! I mean, I love bittersweet as much as the next, but this has too much angst to end on a dreadfully negative note. I can't be THAT cruel to the Chosen... nor to the amazing readers who have actually been willing to put up with my sporadic writing, as well as PM me coercing me into not abandoning my projects. A special thanks goes out to** takaishi hikaru** this time around, for although the update you asked for came around chapter five, I still smile that you sent me a PM begging me to update. Literally. Consider this my apology for making my last update wait so long.

Oh, and by the way, any nicknames used from the Chosen (I don't know if/when they'll come up, but they probably will) come from when I used to role play Digimon Adventure. It's pretty easy to follow: Taichi and Yamato are Tai and Matt, predictably. Kou is a nickname for Koushiro, Dai for Daisuke, Kyo-Kyo for Miyako (If you've seen the Japanese, you remember how she introduced herself to Takeru.), and so on and so forth. If you need clarifications, request it in a review. I respond to those just as dutifully as I do PMs... probably more so, actually.

And without further ado... I don't think I do Daisuke justice. But I'm trying!

* * *

He dropped the phone. Like, actually _dropped_ the phone. Daisuke dove down to catch it before his mother could come in to investigate the clatter, but Takeru on the other line was already suspicious. Daisuke could hear his friend's voice over the line before he even held his cell phone back to his ear.

"Daisuke? Dai, are you there? You okay? Daiiiisuke," Takeru called, but by then Daisuke had recovered just enough to unstick his throat. Sort of. It still felt kind of like something was fighting its way through, but the throat was designed to be a one way road. Sorry, dinner, but there was no turning back now, even if he _did_ feel like throwing up. He wasn't so sure that Takeru wouldn't just hang up on him if he heard the sounds of retching, but that was only fair. Daisuke had done just that the night that Takeru thought eating the thing with the white stuff in the fridge at Yamato's place would be okay. Seriously, even _Daisuke_ thought that was stupid, and the only class he ever got an A in was Phys. Ed.

"Yeah. I'm here." He ignored the last question, because although he had a feeling Takeru thought he meant okay because of whatever had made the phone fall, Daisuke didn't feel like he could answer that question truthfully right then, but he didn't feel like he could say "Not really", either. Not with Hikari-chan, his beloved Hikari-chan hospitalized, and his idol in a right state, because Takeru had told Daisuke how everyone was kinda nervous about Taichi barely speaking a word or anything since talking to the officer in the lobby. Like Daisuke had any right to complain about how _he_ was. The only thing he could think to say was, "I can't believe I blew my allowance on comic books."

Obviously, that was not _quite_ the reaction that Takeru was waiting for. I mean, he'd already gotten the pouting "Why didn't Taichi call me" response, and the "I better not be the last to know" vibe. But maybe, Daisuke thought, he had been expecting something more along the lines of: "Hikari? Hikari?! Is she okay? She's alive, right? TELL ME SHE'S ALIVE". But Takeru would sound way more upset than he did if Hikari was... Daisuke couldn't even _think_ the word. But he wasn't ten anymore. He could control the jealousy... for now. He knew it was because Takeru had been with Yamato, and Sora and Taichi had needed Yamato for a ride. Takeru had told him about that, when Daisuke asked how he knew. It had been a sort of desperate question, hoping Takeru didn't have a story. He could have been pranking him. It would have been a horrible joke, and he would've been flipping pissed, but it was better than the alternative that was their current reality. Stupid reality.

"Um. Excuse me?" Takeru sounded completely baffled, but of course, in Daisuke's world, the fact that he was pissed he bought the comic books already made sense. One would have thought that after like, five years or whatever it was (Daisuke was kinda bad at math, you know?), Takeru would have learned. But apparently not.

"I don't have money for the subway," Daisuke mumbled, and Takeru grunted in a way that Daisuke took as a sound of empathy.

"There's not much to come out for," Takeru said dully, and he sounded almost... disappointed, but Daisuke thought he could figure out why. If Hikari was awake, that would be a good thing, an exciting thing worth the drive. But it was sort of... depressing to go out there, and not be able to say hello to her, or anything. And Taichi probably didn't care if everyone assembled or not. Takeru seemed to share that opinion.

"I still want to," Daisuke said stubbornly. Takeru didn't reply. At least, not on that track. It would've been something of comedic relief if he just let himself get caught up in the same stupid arguments, but it seemed like he was a bit too preoccupied to fall into the usual habit of talking Daisuke out of being an idiot, and then _calling_ him an idiot. One might think that Daisuke would get offended by such things, but at this point in their friendship it was merely ritualistic. It was like Miyako calling him and Ken barbarians for fighting over the remote: expected. It was when that friendly trading of insults _didn't_ happen that Daisuke got really worried.

Like now, for instance.

"Hey, can you do me a favor? I got hold of Koushiro, and I think Mimi knows. Um, could you--"

"Ken's over. We've got it covered." Daisuke was in 'mission mode', as he affectionately called it when he actually had something to do and a reason to buckle down and be serious. Not that there was really any other way to feel, but even if it was just making the rounds in the phone book, it was still something to do. It felt like it could be helpful, and maybe they could think of something...

Was there something? Maybe. He didn't know. He hoped so. Daisuke really hated not having anything to do. Yamato was the transport, Sora was Taichi's leaning shoulder, Takeru kept Yamato in check, Jyou was the doctor, Koushiro... he and Jyou balanced out, but Daisuke didn't have any special role. There was no leading role here, and that made it kind of hard to figure it out. So he took his assignment with gusto.

"Thanks. Look, Koushiro is supposed to be showing up. I dunno when, so I'm gonna go."

"She'll be okay. And Taichi. Everything will," Daisuke said. It was a confidence he didn't quite feel himself, but he was determined to make Takeru feel it. Being down didn't help anything, and he couldn't be _tired_ while there was still somewhere he had to be. He hated to admit it, even if by now he was slowly beginning to accept the fact that he and Hikari just weren't going to happen, but Takeru was probably the one she wanted to see first, besides Taichi... and her parents, but let's face it.

Or let's not. Yeah. Um.

"Right." And Daisuke knew, in his mind's eye, that Takeru was doing that stupid half smile he did when he was practically screaming 'I don't believe a word you say, you liar', but didn't want to actually say it because he was too damn nice. And although it was slightly inappropriate, Daisuke felt this strange urge to laugh. He stifled it though. He didn't think Takeru would find it very funny. _Daisuke_ didn't even find it very funny. "Talk to you later."

"Text me if anything comes up," Daisuke added, and then the line went dead. but he thought that Takeru heard him. And he would, he knew he would. Daisuke may be loathe to admit it sometimes (or a lot of the time. Who was keeping track, really?), but he trusted Takeru. They had been team mates, and classmates, and somewhere along the line, they had become friends. Takeru would tell him if something important happened.

But the knowledge that something important would happen, be it good or... not so good, was very sobering, and Daisuke dropped his phone onto his bed before plopping down next to it. The mattress bounced, but it wasn't nearly as amusing as it was when Daisuke was in his usual good mood. He didn't have a lot of time to brood though. Ken wouldn't allow it. He had been watching from his seat at Daisuke's desk (which was the only part of the room that was spotless, purely because he never used it and avoided it whenever possible), and the moment he had let go of the phone, he had tackled him for information. Or rather nudged; since losing the Dark Spore in his neck, he had become rather mellow and sometimes annoyingly insecure. It was like, being evil gave him an edge or something. Weird.

"What's going on? You're pale," he pointed out, and Daisuke rolled his eyes. Of all the observations.

"Hikari's in the hospital." That seemed like the easiest explanation, and in fact it didn't even feel that hard to say.

But of course, Ken wasn't content with just that. He wanted the whole story, and that proved to be a whole lot harder to spit out. Daisuke spent a lot of time at the Yagami residence, be it because he was hanging out with Taichi or trying (and failing) to woo and/or trick Hikari into a date with him. He knew how to dodge the dreaded spinach cookies and mushroom smoothies and who knew what else their mother had tried to pass off to them, and knew their dad was a recovering alcoholic ten years sober and... the point was, their family felt like _his_ family too, and in an attempt to get through the entire story without choking up, he managed to come off as an apathetic jerk (if anyone who didn't know better was present) while he told Ken everything Takeru had told him on the phone.

"I told Takeru we'd get hold of the rest," Daisuke finished, picking his phone up again. Seemed as good a place as any to focus his attention, because he really didn't want to look up to see Ken looking at him like he was worried Daisuke was going to burst into tears. Daisuke didn't cry. He didn't... Well, not most of the time, anyway. And it was a loser move to cry when you were supposed to be strong. Taichi was counting on them, all of them. He might not know it yet, but he was. They were still a team; they were still Japan's Chosen.

"There has to be something else we can do," Ken insisted, but Daisuke shrugged and shook his head.

"Takeru said he'd tell us if anything changes at the hospital. But till then..." He shrugged again. Helpless wasn't a feeling he liked to feel, and he went out of his way to make sure that he didn't feel it very often. But this time, there didn't seem to be an alternative, at least not that he could see. He wasn't the child of hope, or responsibility, or intelligence. He held courage, and friendship, and sometimes being brave simply meant keeping your chin up when you didn't know what else to do, and being a friend was trusting your other friends to tell you when the time came that they needed something. It was hard, really hard, but he thought that he was getting a little better at it over the years.

"I'll call Miyako." Ken stood up to dig his phone out of his pocket. And he was trying to tell Daisuke that skinny jeans _weren't_ a hindrance. Well, he had conceded to the fact that you couldn't play hardcore soccer in those jeans, but he hadn't admitted to any obstacles in 'daily life'. Couldn't even get your cell phone sitting down. Psht. But Ken ignored Daisuke's smugly raised eyebrows; he was much too accustomed to the gogglehead's teasing to care much anymore. Daisuke resisted the urge to pout. What was _with_ people today?

Well, besides the obvious.

_There had to be something else..._ Daisuke grunted when Ken took the phone call out of Daisuke's bedroom. Part of it was a courtesy thing, and part of it was Ken selfishly wanting a few minutes alone to talk to Miyako. It was courtesy, because last year Daisuke and Miyako had this weird... almost-sort-of-thing going on, like a fling thing that could have been more if he hadn't avoided the conversation a lot. It didn't always bother him, but when Ken made it a point to not let Daisuke over hear his and Miyako's _finally_-blooming relationship, he felt kind of put out. But life went on, right? He'd leave them alone... for the moment, till he wouldn't have to hear Miyako shrieking at him to leave Ken alone and stop being a jerk. Daisuke wasn't sure the other side of his closed door really qualified as "alone", but whatever made his boat float, he suppposed. Snap, that rhymed. He was a poet and he didn't even know it!

Oh, how he cracked himself up sometimes. But it was sort of short lived humor. It seemed like when he found something to laugh about, something normal and regular and _every day_, that phone call crashed down on him, and he felt like a prick for laughing at anything while Hikari was still unconscious. They didn't know when she'd wake up. They didn't know how much damage was done. There was so much they didn't know, but the one thing they _did_ know for certain seemed to loom over the future like a dark storm cloud threatening the skipper in the water. Taichi and Hikari were alone. Not like, they didn't have friends. But when they went home at night, it would just be them. And thinking about that, the dark apartment and Hikari trying to make Taichi smile when he got too serious, was a very sombering thought. It was just like her: smile instead of cry, because if you cry, Nii-san will worry more. That was how she thought, and it always had been.

She had told Daisuke once that she couldn't date him, because it would be like dating her brother. Did that mean she went out of her way to not make him worry too? Well, he knew that answer. She did that to everyone. But Taichi was always a priority, always the first thought on her mind. It had made him jealous once, in a really weird way that still didn't completely make sense to him. So he didn't tell anyone else. If _he_ couldn't understand his mind, nobody else stood a chance.

It seemed like forever that Ken was on the phone. Daisuke could hear his voice, a soft murmur on the other side of the door, but he couldn't hear the words. He suspected that might be a good thing, but it was still mocking his limited patience. With a growl of frustration, he threw himself back on the bed. He hated sitting still. Absolutely hated it, but there really weren't many other options. Maybe he could e-mail Wallace... he'd want to know, right? But then he remembered Wallace kissing Hikari and Miyako on the cheek, and Daisuke scowled at the ceiling. Yeah, the American blondie could wait a bit, Daisuke thought. Wasn't like he had a lot to tell him, in any case.

The door opened. He only really knew because it creaked kinda loudly, a fact that didn't go unnoticed by Ken. Every. Single. Time. He opened it.

"You really need to grease the hinges," he said, and Daisuke raised his head purely to narrow his eyes at him. Best friend or not, he could still be annoying. Daisuke stubbornly claimed that it was because he was spending too much time around Miyako; her nagging was rubbing off on him.

"Really." It wasn't a question, but a statement. Ken let it drop; he obviously had something more important to say.

"Miyako had an idea of how we can help." That certainly got Daisuke's attention. He sat up so quickly that his neck cracked, and he winced and rubbed his neck. Ken permitted him a pitying look before plowing on. "She wants to know if we can go over her place for a few hours." Daisuke hadn't noticed Ken was still holding the phone up, though the mouth piece was covered with his other hand.

"Why?"

"Operation: Stock the Fridge," Ken mumbled. He didn't sound too happy to actually say it outloud, but Daisuke grinned. Miyako was in 'mission mode' too; they'd show everyone who was useless! Or, well, you get the idea, I hope. "I don't know how to cook," Ken admitted.

"So give them canned soup," Daisuke said enthusiastically, sore neck forgotten as he jumped up from his bed and stuffed his feet into his sneakers. "Tell her we'll be right over. Like, _right_ over." He would totally figure out a way to _fly_ if it meant doing something better than sitting around attached to the phone telling the same story over, and over, and over...

"We'll be there. Yeah. Bye," Ken said, and his cheeks were faintly flushed as he hung up the phone and slipped it back into his pocket. "She's telling Iori. So all we have to do is get there."

"Good." Action always gave Daisuke energy. It made him feel better. Nothing was worse than sitting around_ thinking_, and then you jump to conclusions...and let's face it, no matter what the crack job teachers say, _thinking _gives you a wicked headache. Action isn't nearly as painful... I mean, unless you do something that gives you a concussion, but you still were doing something more productive than _thinking_. Yes, the triple emphasis was very important. "Let's go then, Emo Kid," Daisuke said cheerfully. Ken glared at him.

"I'm not--"

"Long hair. Skinny jeans. Black dress shirt. _E-mo_." Daisuke said, sticking his tongue out. The teasing had the desired effect. Ken was up and moving, although Daisuke thought that was only because Ken hoped to strangle him. "So, Miyako's plan is to stuff Taichi's stomach full to overflowing to cheer him up?"

"Got a better plan," Ken challenged, and Daisuke laughed.

"Nope. Can't think of anything better than free food."

They could hear the rain; everytime the wind picked up, it lashed out against the window sill with angry force that made doubt flicker across the boys' faces as they thought about venturing out in the weather. But Daisuke's motivation was easily reinspired; he had a picture of him and Taichi on his desk, and another of the younger Chosen from a few summers ago, on a beach trip. Ken's motivation was a mystery; his expression was rather difficult to read. But Daisuke knew he'd go, once they had their jackets on and all.

"Squirt and company?" Jun. Oi. She was sitting on the couch when they went to leave; their mother was in the kitchen, and he meant to just call out a "be back later" or something on the way out the door, but Jun wouldn't let him go so easily. And he didn't want to tell her the reason, not just yet. She had a crush on Taichi, or at least she used to. She'd want to tag along, and that was just _annoying_. "What're you doing?"

"Going out," Daisuke replied gruffly. Ken looked at him reproachfully, and he sighed. "We're going to our friend's for something important. Can you tell mom I'm having dinner there?" He thought he felt his eye twitch; being nice to Jun took more energy than thinking, and it caused twice the headache. It was like, a super headache. There was a word for that, wasn't there?

"What's in it for me," she asked, raising an eyebrow. Daisuke rolled his eyes. So much for trying to be nice.

"Fine. Don't then, I'll just call later," he snapped, pushing past her. Ken grabbed his shoes on the way, and Daisuke thought he heard Ken actually _apologize_ to Jun on his way out behind Daisuke. He snorted. She was like, the wicked witch in that American movie. Wizard of Oz, yeah? Oh yeah, Daisuke was movie savvy....Sort of.

"She probably wouldn't give you a hard time if you just told her, you know," Ken pointed out as they waited for the elevator to reach the ground level. Daisuke grunted, but that was his only reply. "What if you were in Hikari's place?"

Well that was low. "I'd be in a hospital bed without a care in the world. Till I woke up," he added in a barely discernable mumble. But Ken heard it.

"And Jun would be in Taichi's place."

"So?" But he already felt like an ass. He knew Jun, knew that even when he pissed her off the most, she never _actually_ would cast him out. It was just, you know, typical brother-sister stuff. At least, he thought so. It was for him; she just irked the hell out of him sometimes. But all families were like that. Right?

"You know."

"I don't know why there's never a level thirteen on the elevator."

"What are you talking about?"

"Look!"

"...Daisuke."

"What?"

"I hope you keep wondering that." Ken smirked when Daisuke blinked, looking baffled. "You'll never beat me to Miyako's if you do."

"You'll never beat _me_. True story," Daisuke boasted, and Ken chuckled. And once the elevator doors parted, the race was on. It was a good way to clear away unpleasant thoughts, anyways, running through the rain.


	7. Chapter Six

**Author's note:** Love me, I'm writing these all while I can remember them, so that all I have to do is upload them for you in a semi-timely manner. Sound good? I hope so, it's the best I got, lol. I'm kind of going back to my five reviews for an update thing, so if it seems to be taking a while... poke someone to review, or review yourself if you're a "silent watcher". Seriously, what good does that do anyone?

I wonder if anyone is interested in a Digimon Adventure 02 role play? I'm working on setting up a forum. If anyone wants to help or wants the URL, PM me or ask in a review, please.

A few of the plot devices throughout this fic are actually based off a few brushes with death my friends and I have had, so no, I'm not just blundering my way through this. Someone PMed me, suggesting that there wouldn't be much laughter or side topics, but that's hardly the case. No one wants to think about the death all the time, sure you feel a bit guilty for laughing but it's that or cry in that kind of situation. And some Chosen were closer to the Yagamis than others, particularly the parents, so reactions will be different. Don't think of -you-, think of the character. That's as important in reading as it is in writing.

Miyako's such a tricky muse. She didn't want to tell me any secrets before Iori-chii can show up. And she's just as boy-crazy as ever, I see. -sigh-.

* * *

No time was wasted the second that Miyako hung up the phone. Well. She hit 'end'. Then she dialed Iori's home number, because like her, Iori didn't have a cell phone yet. She couldn't afford one; Iori simply didn't want one. Weirdo. He _did_ realize what century they lived in, right? She wasted no time in complaining about this, the moment she confirmed that it was Iori who answered on the other line.

"Miyako-san," he sighed, sounding impatient, "I'm not _backwards_ just because I don't own a cell phone. I don't need one." Before she could open her mouth to argue -- because undoubtedly, he knew that was exactly what the older girl was planning to do, he said, "Did you want something, Miyako-san? You know better than to call during dinner. If it wasn't your name that had shown up--"

"Something bad's happened, Iori-kun," Miyako said quietly; her siblings were sitting in the living room watching the TV, and she didn't want them to overhear. I mean, she knew she had to tell her parents, and she supposed her siblings too, eventually. But she didn't want the hugging and the 'how horrible's. She wanted to do something useful. Ken had told her, how restless Daisuke was, and how totally out of it he had looked while talking on the phone with Takeru. She could empathize completely. The entire time Ken had been talking, she had been working her brain as hard as she could to think of something meaningful and useful. And Ken had pointed out that it should be a quieter gesture, nothing like a party in hopes of bringing Taichi's mood up. That was just inappropriate. And she supposed she had to agree. The idea she had come up with eventually was much better than that, but it would need everyone, because she certainly couldn't cook that much.

"What?" His voice was sharp, surprised. It was then that she noticed... he sounded different. Older. It made her feel even older, and kind of lonely. They were really growing up. And now they had a real grown-up thing to deal with, one that felt so much more complicated than saving the digital world, because how could you fight death and win? They just had to cope... and that seemed harder. Accepting, dealing, moving on. Miyako had a feeling that like her, Taichi would rather fight Black Wargreymon again than deal with this. But they had to. They had to deal.

"You know how Hikari-chan had that competition today," she asked, and she could imagine Iori nodding before realizing that she couldn't see. And as she imagined him doing that, he answered right on time. He was one of her oldest friends, and was charmingly predictable. It was part of what made him so reliable; it was a comfort to know how he would react, what he would say, even if she couldn't talk to him.

"Is she okay? Tell me what happened, Miyako-san." He sounded impatient, but that didn't make him impolite. He was a well-groomed gentleman, Iori was. He made Miyako smile, even as she felt tears threaten to overwhelm her for the first time, as if it hadn't felt real when Ken had been the one to say it. But to say the words herself, to say them out loud.... That felt scary. She didn't want to do it. It wasn't even like she knew the Yagamis well, the parents anyway. She didn't go to Hikari's very often alone, just the two of them, but she did _know_ them. It was hard to imagine that the next time she stepped foot in that apartment, Miyako wouldn't smell their mother's cooking (which granted, wasn't usually very good). If she stayed for dinner, she wouldn't see their dad come in from work, tired, but not too tired to kiss Hikari on the top of her head and ask Taichi about soccer practice. And they'd never experience that either. Never again.

"There was an accident. On the way home. Ken said that Daisuke didn't tell him the details. Takeru might not have said more. But... Hikari and Taichi's parents, they..." Miyako swallowed, but Iori was quiet. He wouldn't push. Maybe he sensed that it was bad. Maybe he didn't want to know. But he had to; they all had to. And she had promised Ken that she'd tell Iori. "They didn't make it."

There was a sharp intake of breath over the line. "And Hikari-san? Is she okay?" His voice was urgent, and Miyako nodded, just as she had imagined Iori doing mere moments before. She felt silly when she realized she had done it, but it was merely a reflex. "She's at the hospital. Ken said she's not awake. Takeru told them not to go out there."

"Why?"

"No point in all of us going when there's nothing we can do there, I guess," Miyako said with another unseen gesture: a shrug this time.

"Makes sense." His voice was quiet, thoughtful. Confused. They were all a little confused, under the surface. Miyako didn't think there'd be much sleep for anybody tonight. They'd be too busy trying to understand why the universe would take someone's parents from them before they were even graduated from Uni. They'd be too busy trying to understand why their fearless leader and sweet, quiet Hikari deserved that sort of hardship after all the good they had done for the world. Miyako wanted to scream at the injustice of it all, but that would have to wait until that sleepless night.

"I have an idea though," she said brightly. "Something we can do to help Taichi get his feet."

"Like what?" Iori sounded skeptical, like he didn't think there was anything they could do. And maybe, Miyako thought, maybe he was right. But they had to try. She couldn't stand not trying, not _doing_ something.

"We're going to cook!" She _knew_ he was raising his eyebrows at her. And sure enough, the mere tone of his voice told her that was his exact expression. She knew him way too well.

"We are?"

"Yes," Miyako replied stubbornly. Iori sighed, but otherwise didn't say anything. "Can you come over tonight, do you think?"

"I think so. I'll just tell Gramps, and Kaa-san." He was quiet. It would be a while, she thought, till he got away. But maybe not too long.

"They can come, if they want to help." And stay close, because she imagined that maybe some parents would, knowing that somewhere, parents would no longer have the luxury of making that decision. "Your mom makes really good ohagi."

"She does," Iori agreed. His voice was pensive. "Alright. I'll try be there within the hour. Are Daisuke-san and Ken-san coming too?"

"Mhm. I'd ask Sora, but she's at the hospital, from what Ken said. So are Yamato, and Takeru." There was no surprise there. She would have been shocked if Takeru wasn't there. She imagined he must be miserable. He was always so protective of Hikari. But then, they all were, a little. She seemed to have that effect on people.

"I think we can manage. If Daisuke doesn't eat it all," Iori added. It was quite obvious from his dubious tone that he wasn't entirely kidding about that happening. Miyako smiled a little. She had to admit, she was sort of thinking the same thing. It would be fun, but she wasn't even sure Daisuke knew how to cook.

"Or burns it," Miyako added, and Iori's grunt of agreement made her giggle. "Go finish dinner with your family. We'll see you later."

"Right. See you later, Miyako-san."

"Ja ne."

She waited for Iori to hang up before placing the wireless on the base. Now for, you know, getting permission to have friends over and take the kitchen hostage. She probably should have thought of that first... but Mantarou was downstairs, watching the shop. Her father was out running errands. Her mother was taking a nap. And maybe her sisters would want to help! They could cook, better than Miyako anyways.

"Chizuru! Momoe! I need your help," Miyako called out, jogging over to the couch and hanging over the back. Her older sisters tilted their heads back to look at Miyako, though neither looked particularly entertained by her interruption.

"Miyako, we're watching a program," Chizuru said with a frown. Momoe sighed and returned her eyes to the television screen. She was, after all, friends with Daisuke's older sister, Jun. Momoe was too used to eccentricity to be much bothered by Miyako. Chizuru, however, wasn't.

"I know, but--"

"Then go do some math homework or something," Chizuru cut in before Miyako could finish her sentence. Miyako puffed her cheeks in annoyance.

"I need your help," Miyako repeated stubbornly, ignoring Chizuru's narrowed eyes. She was pleading instead to Momoe, who she could see watching the conversation through the corner of her eye. "Some friends are coming over." Chizuru sighed, but Miyako pretended that she didn't hear her. "We're gonna be cooking in the kitchen."

"Just don't make a mess, Chizuru said, turning up the volume by a full letter. Miyako winced. That was a little bit much; she wasn't being _that_ loud, she thought with a defiant frown. But she was not to be deterred by her sister's blatant attempts to shut her up.

"Well, we're trying to make some food for our friends." She went back to speaking to Momoe, though she was obnoxious enough to raise her voice just a little, in retaliation for the volume being tampered with on the TV. Chizuru rolled her eyes, but otherwise pretended not to notice. This was a very old game, one that had gotten boring a long time ago but hadn't quite managed to slip out of their daily habits. It was like, Daisuke harassing Takeru. It was ritualistic.

"Why's that? Is it their birthday or something," Momoe asked. She was humoring her, Miyako knew. Play along, and the game ended faster. She played the game with Mantarou all the time, when he decided she needed to play audience to one of his melodramatic rants. But the point was, if she could get the whole thing out, maybe they would actually decide to help. Or at least one of them might. Maybe? Well, it didn't hurt to try, unless Chizuru lost her patience and beat her into the ground with the remote. But Chizuru resembled the sensible one of the family. The worst she would do was tell Miyako to buzz off... or atleast, she hoped that was the worst her big sister would do. But she might have a Mantarou-channeling moment and pick Miyako up and carry her into her room. He'd done it before, true story. The jerk.

"No." Miyako swallowed. You know, with most things, once you say it once, it isn't so hard to say it again. But that didn't seem to be the case this time, and that was insanely problematic. She didn't want to cry, but that was the feeling that came up when she choked on the sentence. But she ignored it; tears were something that should be seen by dark lightbulbs and pillows only. _Not_ by siblings when you wanted to get something done sometime before next summer. "Do you remember Hikari-chan? And Taichi-san?"

"A little. Hikari is the girl Jun's little brother likes, right," Momoe asked.

"Yeah. Ano, Hikari-chan and her parents were.... they were in an accident, and..." It was hard just to say that, like something was trying to stop her. She still felt like it wasn't real, like it was some horrible joke that wasn't funny to say it. But her sisters sort of spared her the effort of choking out the second half of the sentence, for the moment anyway. Chizuru looked worried, and Momoe's hands were clenched into anxious fists.

"Are they alright? When did that happen," Momoe asked. Even Chizuru stopped telling hissing for them to shut it so that she could hear the television.

"The news earlier said there was a bad accident on the speedway," Chizuru said. She was frowning thoughtfully. "Was that them? They didn't release anything else. The rain has been awful all evening..."

"They died," Miyako said quietly. "The parents. Hikari's in the hospital." There was a collective gasp from the sisters, but neither could think of anything else to say. They all three, though, jumped when Momoe's phone rang out. She dug through the pocket of her denim skirt to check, while Miyako and Chizuru got their breath back. Both felt silly now, that they had been scared by the phone. You would've thought they were watching some stupid scary movie or something, the way they were behaving!

"Jun asked me to come over," Momoe said, holding up the screen to show them the message (perhaps suspecting that Miyako might think she was lying to get out of cooking with her, which she wasn't entirely wrong to suspect). "She said Daisuke went out... I'm guessing because he's coming here." It was a statement, or at least Miyako thought it was. Her voice went up as though she were asking a question, or at least confirming the belief. So Miyako nodded.

"Have fun Momoe," Chizuru said, returning her attention to the television. She changed the station from her beloved program though, and turned on the news. Miyako wondered if she was hoping to hear something more of the accident that claimed Hikari and Taichi's parents' lives. She didn't know what she hoped to learn; what more was there to know? She supposed what had happened... But Miyako wasn't sure she wanted to know. She didn't want the visual. She didn't want the nightmare.

"Call me if you guys are really stuck cooking. And try not to wake up mom from her nap," Momoe added, tucking her phone back into her pocket and standing up to stretch. "Mantarou's working the store, too. Should be up in a while, when dad gets home." Miyako had a feeling that this was supposed to be good news, because it meant another potential helping hand. But all it did is make her scowl. Mantarou, oh dear big brother of hers, seemed to enjoy making her life obnoxiously difficult, even if she knew that deep down he actually_ did_ love her. Takeru told her that was how older brothers were. Hikari, however, had never been able to sympathize completely. Taichi might annoy her sometimes, but they were also very tight, as far as siblings went. She'd never once heard Hikari express so much as a fleeting dislike for Taichi in a moment of anger. Spoke volumes for the guy, Miyako thought.

"I'll be out here if you actually need the help." Chizuru wasn't quite as comfortable around her younger siblings' friends, that much seemed to be obvious every time someone came over. She either tuned in to the television, retreated to her room, or went out or downstairs. She was friendly enough, but she seemed to harbor the belief that _their_ friends weren't _her_ friends, and Chizuru's friends likewise rarely engaged with her younger siblings. Usually Miyako thought nothing of it, but it annoyed her when she actually wanted something to happen.

"Fine, fine," Miyako mumbled. Momoe patted her on the shoulder on the way towards grabbing her coat from the closet, and although it was meant to be a friendly gesture, Miyako still felt the urge to bark sarcastically. She didn't though. The door slammed open. Daisuke was ranting from the hall, and Miyako knew without turning around that Ken had, yet again, won the race from Daisuke's apartment to hers. What _boys_. Seriously, she was about to consider begging on hands and knees for Chizuru to join them in the kitchen, just so that there was another girl with her. But she didn't. She still had her pride, you know.

"Miyako-san," Ken greeted her with a smile, shaking water-drenched hair from his eyes. She noticed he was neither acknowledging Daisuke nor ignoring him; Ken was a lot more patience with their self-proclaimed leader than most of the group did. Certainly more than Miyako. Sometimes he was almost sweet, and then the next second he made her want to chuck a skateboard at him. I mean, she didn't _own_ a skateboard (she really wasn't all that coordinated, to be honest), but she sure as hell could find one if she wanted to hit him with it badly enough. And some days? Oh, how she wanted to hit him. Maybe, if one of them could hit him in the head hard enough, it would knock some sense back into him. But if all those blows to the head fighting evil Digimon didn't do the trick, Miyako doubted anything would. The only thing that ever seemed to do the trick was Hikari's gentle chiding, and all that really succeeded at was making him mope like an insolent child.

"You made it!" She left Chizuru to the television. It wasn't like her sister was making an effort to be a part of the conversation anyways; she only raised a hand in response to Ken saying hello to her as well. Well fine then, let her be that way! "I'll um... I'll get you a towel," she said with a small smile. She couldn't hear the rain very well; they had an interior apartment, and a middle level one to boot. The only reason she even knew about the rain was because it had been on the weather report, besides the fact that Chizuru had mentioned it mere minutes ago.

"I'm sorry we didn't think to stop at the store, Miyako-san," Ken apologized, catching the towel she threw in his direction.

"Don't worry about it. I've got enough money saved up to buy some stuff downstairs if we don't have enough in the cupboard." Miyako shrugged. Sure, she had been hoping to buy a new mp3 player, because Chizuru's old one had kind of sort of somehow managed to obtain an ugly scratch across the screen that made it kind of difficult to read anything around it, but this was _way_ more important. She could just cross her fingers and hope she got more money for her birthday. Her luck, though, her parents would just tell her that her treat was not having to work that day. She threw another towel at Daisuke, but he didn't realize until it hit him smack in the face. Miyako couldn't help but giggle, and even Ken cracked a small smile. Daisuke, however, was not amused.

"What are you laughing at," he demanded. Ken and Miyako tried to keep a straight face, but all it did was make her laugh harder. "I'm soaking wet, and Taichi isn't answering my texts." That, wasn't so funny. They exchanged worried glances. Maybe Hikari needed surgery. Maybe something went wrong. Maybe--

"I'm sure he's just not in the mood to talk. He's in mourning. Give him his space," Ken said quietly. Miyako always envied that. Like Hikari, he had this way of saying the thing that kind of made everyone mellow. He had caused such a stir after he dropped the name of Kaiser, but he was really a gentle guy. And smart, and quiet, and really talented. And cute. Come on, even when he was evil, he was really cute. And she was totally staring. Oh god.

"Iori should be here in a while," Miyako added; the silence that had settled over them after Ken spoke was ominous and depressing, and depression made Miyako tired. It was just so _heavy_, you know? 'Sides, at least Hikari was okay. So it could have been worse: Taichi could have lost his _whole_ family, you know? But she didn't say that outloud. She liked to think that she had learned a tiny bit of tact in the past couple years. I mean, it might not be true at all, but a girl can hope, right?

"A while? Be a little more vague," Daisuke said sarcastically, rolling his eyes. Miyako scowled at him; shame she had already given him the towel. She'd love to chuck it at him again, and actually mean to hit him hard this time around. She settled for kicking him in the shin as she walked past him to lead the way into the kitchen. He swore loudly, and she smirked to herself. Well, she _actually_ smirked, but neither of the boys could see it. Behind her, she could hear Ken whisper "You deserved it. Don't be so rude." That was an oddly feel-good moment. Ken-kun was sticking up for her!

"Well boys, let's get ready to cook," Miyako said enthusiastically, and she began digging through the cabinet for cook books containing recipes they had a chance of replicating while Ken and Daisuke exchanged looks. This would prove to be... interesting, at any rate. But Miyako was determined to make sure it was also a success, even if they had to stick to making ohagi and rice balls until their hands fell off.


	8. Chapter Seven

Author's note: This is officially the farthest I've gotten in a fanfic like, ever. But _anyways... _I feel I should warn you all who have gotten so happy and excited to see like, four updates or something during August, that won't happen during the school year. While granted, my muse for this story is like those fires rampaging through Southern Cali while we speak (not that fire is funny), school also started September third, and I've been busy since.

Koushiro was always the last to be told anything after the first couple of episodes in the series. And in the English dub, he got pretty ticked by it (in the Japanese I believe he was just annoyed that they didn't consider the fact that they might have gotten caught, or in even more trouble had someone come by and shut off the computer they used as the gateway). So in my little organization spree, I made sure that Koushiro wasn't left in the dust. I've talked enough (as always), so now it's Koushiro's turn. Our logical little computer whiz. -affectionate nuzzling...whether he likes it or not-. I didn't do him justice, but hopefully I didn't butcher him _too_ badly.

Oi, nicknames: Izzy (Izumi, think guys. It really _does_ make sense) from the English dub, Kou from a role play I was on. Because it's kinda catchy, and easier to type. Don't judge me! Haha.

* * *

He felt like an errand boy.

I mean, he wasn't complaining. The alternative was sitting home drumming his fingers on his keyboard, totally not absorbed in his latest project as he should be because he would be too busy letting his imagination get away with him. Or well, he'd be Googling the likelihood of survival, and statistics, and that wasn't exactly helpful, and no one wanted to hear about statistics and chances and figures and numbers when they were talking about a friend. So yeah, those were like, anti-helpful. Was that a word? If he was at his computer, he could look it up, but no. He was in a drive- thru.

Seriously, a drive-thru; one that served disgusting, greasy, unhealthy food by the bag and he didn't get much of a say in the matter because he was only one person with one job, and while he didn't sneeze at his paycheck, it was still kind of hard to buy healthy, substantial meals for five people, six if Jyou joined them. Although the chances of that were kind of slim while he was on the clock, Koushiro bought him something anyway. More money down the drain. He loved his friends, really, but he needed the money. They better reimburse him a little... well, except Taichi. He'd make an exception for Taichi, this time. He was sure the gesture wouldn't go unnoticed. He always gave Taichi a hard time about being responsible, etc, etc.

He heard this was comfort food. Comfort? The only comfort it gave was the satisfaction that you were guaranteed to live a shorter, less healthy life... and that was only if you were a suicidal masochist, which he hoped none of his friends were. I mean, that would just make a not so great day even worse. First one of his laptops that he'd _finally_ got working crashed, and then he spilled hot tea on his khakis, and then the rain storm hit... and then the phone call... Seriously, he shouldn't have let his mother get to him when he first woke up. Should've been all "screw it, I wanna sleep" and gone back to bed. But that wasn't what Koushiro did. Koushiro had a _schedule_, and a _time line_.

Nooo, he wasn't complaining at _all_. ...Okay, maybe just a little. Lying was a really ugly trait. So was sarcasm. Unfortunately, when you hung out with Taichi on a semi-regular basis, and then dealt with Daisuke who was like, a rude, obnoxious version of Taichi, and then his and Takeru's bickering, and Taichi and Yamato's bickering when they were younger, you kind of developed a sort of sick sense of humor to handle the stress and insanity. Both words, by the way, totally and completely summed up the situation they were in. It just, it didn't make sense.

And he had a feeling his dad was right, he probably shouldn't be driving. He was snappy, and upset, and emotional, and every driving instructor on the face of the planet would tell him to turn around and go home. But he had to deliver this disgusting grease fest. Why they couldn't just _eat in the cafeteria_, he had no idea, but he guessed maybe it was a good thing. Drag Taichi (or the others, at least) out of the hospital for a while. There was a parking garage, Takeru had told him when he asked where Yamato had parked in a quick text before leaving the house. A picnic on the concrete by the cars... yeah, that sounded like a blast. See? Snappy. He really shouldn't be out driving in the _rain_. At least he was already heading towards the hospital...

Really, really bad joke. Ignore that.

Not gonna lie, the smell of the food was kind of beginning to nauseate him by the time he pulled off the free way. He couldn't even open the windows because of the rain. It didn't seem to be showing any signs of lightening up, and he was getting nervous. He didn't drive a lot. The only reason he was now, was because he really didn't want to walk to get food, then to the train, where the food would probably spill and... You get the picture. So that was why he was in the car, the oh-so rare occasion that he wasn't all that happy about. Tokyo was the kind of city where you really didn't need a car a lot. Traffic was horrible, and it was almost always easier to just take the train. Certainly had better luck than the bus. And then there was walking. But again, they weren't such great alternative methods of traffic at the moment. Not the way to make a fairly inexperienced driver happy, especially when he only really spent time behind the wheel to get his license in the first place.

But to back track, in all seriousness he could probably bring the food inside. That was probably preferred; he doubted Taichi or even Takeru wanted to leave Hikari's side, _just_ in case. He had a feeling it was wishful thinking that she'd wake up that night, but he decided to keep that to himself. Taichi wouldn't thank him for his pessimism, but her body needed to heal. He didn't know the extent of the damage, but if it knocked her out, it wasn't just a little scratch. Besides, maybe it was better for Taichi to get his feet back underneath him before Hikari woke up. That is, if Taichi took advantage of the time till then. Knowing him, the idea hadn't even dawned on him. Koushiro sighed as he pulled into a parking spot, grateful to find one out of the rain. That would be so like Taichi. He could be really responsible... unless Hikari was involved. Then he got a tad bit irrational. Alright. More than just a tad. He got morosely irrational. As in, even Sora couldn't smack him out of it. Yamato should try... but Koushiro was actually kind of glad the fighting between them had more or less ended, thank you very much.

That's when he realized it was physically impossible for one person to carry all the sodas and bags of greasy, calorie loaded food (He really wished that healthy food was cheaper. Has he said that already?) inside. At least, Koushiro couldn't. With a sigh to himself, he reached for his phone on the dashboard and punched in a quick message. Within moments of him hitting 'send', his phone buzzed in his hand and a message popped onto the screen. Yamato's reply read: _be out in a minute_. Good. Koushiro wanted a moment to ask some questions without stressing Taichi out. They were innocent questions, just about Hikari's condition. Takeru hadn't told him a lot; Koushiro had a feeling that the younger boy hadn't been alone when the phone call was made. Not that it was a big deal, but if it was Taichi, Takeru wasn't likely to say anything if it would upset Taichi further. It was understandable. Annoying, maybe, but understandable. Koushiro would probably do the same.

A knock on the window made Koushiro jump, and he looked to the window to see Yamato staring at him with his eyebrows raised, a smirk tugging at his lips. Oh, geez. Had he gotten that absorbed in his thoughts? Quite possibly. Ignoring his embarrassment at actually _jumping_ like Jyou way back when the Digital world was new (to them, anyway), he climbed out of the car. Yamato side stepped to allow room; someone had parked way too close to Koushiro while he wasn't paying attention, and he muttered something about hating cars that made Yamato chuckle a dry, rather humorless chuckle. Yamato liked driving his baby... when they weren't in the heart of Tokyo, anyway. You'd have to be insane to enjoy that experience.

"Nervous there, Koushiro?" Koushiro didn't answer, but instead began handing bags of food to the blond. Yamato didn't seem offended; they had a strange friendship of sometimes getting along, and sometimes irking each other. And while sometimes a little squabble was fun and effective enough in releasing those pent up feelings without feelings getting hurt or things being taken too personally, there were more important questions, in Koushiro's opinion. Maybe Yamato thought so too; maybe he just didn't want to answer them. Koushiro could understand that, but he wanted answers anyway.

"How's Hikari-chan? I wasn't told very much," he said in what he hoped was a casual, conversational tone. He didn't think he succeeded at that though; his voice sounded strained to his ears. Yamato's lips were pursed into a tight, white line. It was like they had all forgotten that there were ordinary dangers. You didn't only get hurt by some evil Digimon. There were things that could hurt them here too, innocent things that nobody could control. It was a difficult lesson to swallow.

"Jyou thinks she'll be alright, once she wakes up. Then we'll have something else to worry about." The second part had been said in a mumble, as though Yamato hadn't meant for Koushiro to hear. But hear he did, and he didn't much see the point in pretending he hadn't. He agreed entirely. Hikari wouldn't be okay to hear about her parents, but what was worse was that he knew she'd pretend she was. Yamato was thinking the same thing, he was sure. It was like the Dark Ocean all over again, except this shadow was in the back of her mind where none of them could fetch her out if she didn't want to be.

"Takeru must be taking it hard." It was a subtle probe, one that Koushiro supposed he wouldn't have blamed Yamato for ignoring. But he didn't; his brows grew close together and he looked bothered.

"He hasn't said much. But you're probably right," he agreed with a heavy sigh.

"And Taichi?"

The last of the food distributed between both of them, Koushiro carefully shut the car door with his hip. When he looked up, Yamato's face was unreadable as he tried to think of an answer, any answer that would neither betray Taichi nor be a lie. That was all Koushiro needed to know.

"Let's see if the smell of grease and carbs can pull him back," Yamato suggested, question half-answered. But it was good enough; Koushiro remembered when Hikari fell sick in the Digital world. He didn't have to try very hard to imagine how Taichi was faring right now. They were lucky he wasn't catatonic... although he thought he spoke too soon when they filed into the hospital room. Taichi was sitting beside the bed, not quite looking at Hikari. Koushiro didn't think he really saw the room at all. Takeru was looking anxious and uncomfortable, eyes flickering between Hikari's unconscious face and Taichi's. Sora was sitting at the foot of the bed, looking restless and upset. Food, it seemed, was just in time.

"Kou's delivery service, right on time," Yamato announced, as though he had read Koushiro's thoughts. He didn't sound as cheerful as the words might suggest, though. But that was Yamato; and no one seemed to think anything of it. Nor of the wide berth he gave Sora as he joined Takeru on the other side of the bed. Koushiro noticed though, and judging by the deepening frown on Sora's face, so had she.

"Burgers, fries, and every other unhealthy morsel that I could afford," Koushiro said, unloading his share of the food – or the drinks, rather – on a small bedside table. Yamato threw Takeru a burger, which he caught with a blink. Koushiro gave one to Sora, along with one of the sodas. She smiled her thanks, but it didn't quite reach her eyes. She was worried.

But so were they all.

"Tai, eat something before I make them stuff a tube down your throat," Yamato ordered gruffly, throwing a burger his best friend's way. Taichi didn't actually catch it; it bounced off him and landed on the bed by Hikari's hand before he realized it. Taichi picked it up slowly, a frown creeping onto his face. He really was out of it. But he was opening the burger's wrappings, and taking slow bites, so Yamato didn't say anything else. Koushiro envied that power, the ability to get Taichi to do something when Hikari was hurt without snapping off.

Koushiro opened his mouth to say something else – ask another question, really –, but he lost his nerve. He had lots of relatively pointless questions: what had Jyou said was Hikari's condition? Where was he? Were the others coming? Did Taichi want him to leave? But no one told him to stay or go, so after a long moment of standing, he dragged a chair over from beside the empty bed on the other side of the room and sat down, a little bit apart from everyone else.

The girlfriend, the best friend, _her _best friend.

He wasn't sure where he fit in, but he wanted to help. And not just as the fast food guy. He just... didn't know how. He was much more help in the Digital world, he thought with a heavy sigh that went ignored in a room already thick with anxiety, worry, and general misery-by-association. He was useless here, and he hated it. Absolutely, without a doubt, hated it. But maybe, if he stuck around for a while, a use for him would make itself clear. He hoped so, anyway, and he added that to the growing list of other things he hoped for.


	9. Chapter Eight

**Author's note: **All these males are so difficult to write. Gah. You can always tell who I've role played as in the past; they come so much easier to me than the likes of Koushiro, Jyou, Ken, and Iori. But hopefully this will be good practice, because I've come to this depressing discovery that my characters are becoming much too similar for my liking. So, raise your glasses to practicing characterization and entertaining my loyal readers at the same time! And people say I can't multi-task. But yeah. Today I made the discovery that this fanfic is further along (and better planned out, to boot) than my story that I want to publish. Sad day. So if you're wondering why sometimes it will take me longer to update than either of us would like, it's because I'm attempting to keep the stories up to speed. So, Chapter ten (technically speaking) won't be coming out until I finish chapter ten of my novel. But I'm making good progress on it, so here's to hoping it's sooner rather than later!

We need a break from that depressing hospital room, so get ready for some good... "not really clean in the literal sense but totally clean in the figurative sense" fun!

PS: Sorry it's really kinda short; my muse is fried at the moment, and I figured something is better than nothing. Consider this a not really important chapter. I really don't like how it ended, but... I don't know, maybe I'll be able to do something with it later. No promises, though. Iori's next. Eep!

* * *

"Miyako-san... I don't think this is right," Ken said, looking uneasy at the idea of confronting the headstrong girl while she wielded a wooden spoon and a glass bowl. There were knives around here too. Daisuke seemed to have thought of that first, for while whistling oh-so "innocently", he reached for the knife to move it out of Miyako's reach. But the idea of Daisuke with a sharp, pointy object wasn't exactly comforting either. Ken and Iori exchanged uneasy looks, but Iori only shrugged and sighed. He had given up being worried about them a long time ago; Ken wished he could take his lead.

"Of course it is," Miyako scowled, looking rather offended at the idea of being corrected. However, there was no way she could deny it whole heartedly. Her face fell a little as she looked around the kitchen. Once a warm and welcoming yellow color, it was now powdery white and rather messy. She groaned. Her mother was not going to be very happy with her, and they'd have to clean this mess up eventually. That didn't bother Ken so much as the worry that they might hospitalize Taichi too, if the food was as bad as it looked. It wasn't really Miyako's fault there, though. Neither Daisuke nor Ken had ever had to cook before, and the results had been rather disastrous.

"Maybe we should just order them a pizza," Daisuke suggested with a shrug, the knife still in his hand. Everybody cringed, and his indifferent expression turned into a scowl to rival Miyako's out of frustration. "What?!"

"Just put it down, Daisuke-kun," Miyako sighed. Iori frowned.

"Maybe I'll ask my mom to make some ohagi for them, too. I'm not really sure this is food," Iori said thoughtfully, poking something that was supposed to resemble the aforementioned food. Daisuke's scowl deepened; it was his attempt that Iori was poking. Iori had shown up laden with things from his fridge, thanks to his mother's insisting. She made some of their dinners in advance, just in case Iori was home alone and had to fend for himself because she wouldn't be home till later, or something. He always sighed that she seemed to forget that he knew how to cook, but it had come in handy this time. Her gifts were some of the only edible food they had to present to Taichi.

"Well fine then. I still say we order pizza," he said stubbornly, and everyone heard his stomach grumble loudly. Miyako grinned despite herself, and so did Ken. Unfortunate and miserable as the circumstances might be that brought them all together again, he missed hanging out with the lot of them. It would almost be like old times, if Hikari was with them. But she was... Ken stopped that thought there, because any more and he would bring down the comfortable atmosphere within the filthy kitchen.

He was doing his best to think about it in a detached, but helpful way. You know, like how scientists look at data, or mathematicians look at statistics... or something like that. He was trying not to remember the accident that took his brother's life, his brother who had been... you know, his _brother_, whatever happened. He was trying not to remember how he had tried to take his place, the way he suspected Taichi would try to take the place of their parents for Hikari. He was trying not to sympathize, but to empathize. When you related too much, you became less helpful. You fell apart.

Ken had fallen apart more than enough throughout his life, thanks. And while they said that you went through several times in your life when you seemingly forgot who you were, lost your way, or regretted the way you had taken, Ken wanted to do his best to avoid those moments. He had enough regret, enough remorse. And see? Here he was, doing exactly what he told himself he wouldn't do. He was thinking too much, instead of _doing something_.

Maybe Daisuke and Miyako's impatience was contagious. Or maybe, deep down, everyone liked to feel important, and necessary to the daily operations. It was a good feeling to help, whether or not they were secretly being a little selfish about it. Nobody who now stood in Miyako's kitchen, for however much they were failing at their mission, wanted to admit that there was nothing they could do but sit at home and go on with their daily lives until Taichi, Yamato, Takeru, or Yamato called them. Nobody wanted to feel useless.

"Fineeee," Miyako sighed, throwing the soiled wooden spoon into the sink. It landed with a soft "ploop" as the sitting water sucked it under.

"Iori and I will clean, if he agrees," Ken offered. Iori shrugged; they were getting along better, a little at least, than they originally had. Well, originally... after the whole "Kaiser" thing, but Ken tried not to think about that either. There was a lot that he tried not to think about.

"Miyako, you have flour on your glasses," Iori pointed out calmly as he began digging around in the cabinets beneath the sink for some cleaning supplies. He began handing out squirt bottles and moist wipes to Ken, who collected them in his arms while Miyako ushered Daisuke out of the kitchen, complaining about him tracking flour onto the carpet; she hadn't seen the flour on his socks until it was too late.

"Things don't really change, do they," Ken observed quietly, as though afraid that Miyako might hear him over the sounds of her thwapping Daisuke upside the head. Sometimes he worried, a little, that she liked him. They had such an outgoing friendship...although albeit, it was a little abusive. She was quieter to Ken, as though he were fragile, like he might break if she yelled at him. It was silly to be jealous of Daisuke; he knew better, for one. But sometimes, you know, it's only natural to be envious of the best friends. Because there was no doubt that they were close, for all their insults and obscene gestures. They trusted each other. And once, there had been something more. Selfishly, he hoped that wouldn't happen again.

"Some things. But other things are about to change a lot," Iori both and disagreed with a sigh. Ken didn't say anything; he understood, he really did. But he wasn't talking about the hospital, miles away in a world so completely inconceivable while they stood in the warm light of Miyako's kitchen. He was talking about here, this moment. The more things changed, the more they stayed the same. They hadn't really changed, not from where Ken was standing.

They worked enveloped in a relatively comfortable silence; Iori was a guy of few words unless he felt they were important to speak, and Ken was intent on making the kitchen spotless so that Miyako didn't have to pick up the slack before her mother came out of the other room to see the mess. He had only been scrubbing at the floor for a few minutes, doing a far better job than he had on the stove top, when Miyako came back in. She sounded considerably more chipper than she had upon exiting; Ken had a suspicion that it had something to do with Daisuke pouting as he rubbed the back of his head, but he kept that thought to himself.

" Pizza should be here soon," she announced happily, throwing a sponge at Daisuke and ordering him none-too-kindly to help clean. It was then that Ken noticed the smears of white powder that had not been on Miyako before, and he had a feeling of what had happened. But it was Iori who asked how she got messier _leaving_ the mess. Miyako narrowed her eyes at Daisuke the entire time she spoke.

"_Some_ one thought it would be _absolutely hilarious_ to give me a 'just because' hug," Miyako said, over enunciating every syllable just in case Daisuke didn't get the message. She startled Ken by walking up behind him and putting a hand on his head, although it wasn't a hit like he for some reason was expecting. "You've been quiet tonight." Her tone was completely different; he had no idea how she went from sounding ready to shank Daisuke to sounding all worried and...he didn't know another word for it, _sweet_.

"Well, we've been working," he explained, without really explaining at all. He was quieter in groups than he was one-on-one, which they all knew by this point. But Miyako always seemed determined to make him speak without them being behind closed doors.

She grabbed another damp sponge from the sink and joined him at scrubbing the floor, making small chatter and such in an effort to get a response from him. He didn't resist, but she wasn't happy with his "I'm fine"s and "I guess; Kaasan seemed happy with it" when she asked him about his test scores in math a few days before. This was easier when it was just them, without Daisuke snickering behind his hand and Iori pretending he couldn't see them if they should choose to start making out right there. As if they would, although he knew Miyako wouldn't object. Ken, however, wasn't into public displays of affection. Particularly while Daisuke was grinning like an idiot.

"Are you thinking about your brother," Miyako asked suddenly, and Ken's hand slipped on the sponge. "Sorry," she added quickly. He raised his eyes to find that her cheeks were flushed deep red, and she was biting her lip in embarrassment. "I was just thinking, and it kind of... heheh." She smiled nervously, as though she expected him to yell at her. But he only shook his head; Ken found it hard to yell at Miyako, although he could yell at Daisuke just fine.

"It's fine. Don't apologize." He sighed, rocking back onto his knees. The kitchen actually wasn't looking like such a disaster area anymore; Iori was tackling the countertops, although Ken could tell that he was listening closely. Daisuke was even being sort of productive, as though afraid Miyako would hit him again. "Yeah. I'm thinking about him." He shrugged, as though it was nothing. But she wasn't buying it. He could see the doubt in her eyes, and the look she exchanged with Daisuke and Iori when she thought Ken had gone back to sweeping up and cleaning. But he pretended not to see; it didn't matter. Things would be different this time.

Hikari and Taichi... they were stronger than him.

-----------------------------------

"I'm fine," he insisted, for what felt like the millionth time, as he tried to leave the Inoue apartment. Daisuke was waiting in the hall, fidgety and impatient. He was talking about hailing a cab, not really in the mood to tackle running in the heavy downpour still going strong outside. Ken wasn't listening to him. Miyako was holding his hand, having grabbed at it to keep him from just walking away without saying anything, and his mind was... you know, not outside. He wasn't sure where it was, actually. He felt absurdly like grinning, but that was so beyond inappropriate given the circumstances of the evening that he was certain that his mind had vacated his head for the time being.

"If you say so." Miyako sounded doubtful, and she was frowning as though something in his face would betray his words. Nothing must have, however, because she sighed. Her grip on his hand relaxed a little; it was comfortable, this. It would have been better if Daisuke wasn't grumbling loudly in the hallway. I mean, it wasn't about them, but Ken still found it just a tad distracting. Obviously, so did Miyako. She pouted. "He's so disruptive," she complained, and Ken laughed softly.

"Well, he's my place to stay tonight. So be nice," he teased gently, and she rolled her eyes, but didn't say anything else. Concerning Daisuke, at least.

"You'll call?"

"Tomorrow at the latest. Call us if Takeru-kun has news for us," he said. Good or bad, he didn't say, and she didn't question. Hikari had become a very sensitive topic very quickly. _What else would change?_

Miyako leaned up to kiss him on the cheek; he had gotten taller, something she often complained about as she hadn't grown much over the past few months. She was much, much too used to being the tallest _and_ the oldest, everywhere it seemed but home. It made him chuckle, although he kept that to himself tonight.

"I will."

"Are you ready _yet_," Daisuke whined loudly, and Miyako rolled her eyes while Ken sighed. It was goodbye, then. Or see you later. Miyako didn't really like saying goodbye. Goodbyes were like saying _Au revoir_ in French, she had said sternly once, hand on her hip and jaw stubbornly set. Au Revoir meant goodbye until we meet in death, something like that. It was more permenant than _A teut a l'heur_, or something like that. He blamed it on her deciding to take French as well as English in high school, but still. He supposed there was some alright reasoning in that, very Miyako-like at any rate.

"I'm ready, I'm ready," Ken called back, returning the kiss quickly. New relationships were so weird, testing the waters, awkward and comfortable, embarrassing and yet proud. He was navigating uncharted waters, something unfamiliar to him. Miyako seemed to find it amusing, at any rate.

He was thinking about her way too much. Was that normal?

"Are you coming back to my place," Daisuke asked, pushing off from the wall he had been leaning against as Ken shut the door gently behind him. Ken nodded, and Daisuke grinned. "Yatta!"

"You're surprisingly cheerful," Ken observed. He regretted it nearly immediately; the smile slipped from Daisuke's face and he looked rather dumbstruck for a moment. But the next, it was fixed back into place, as though he simply had to put it back on its hook. Ken both envied and pitied that ability; it must be hard, to smile like that all of the time.

"Taichi's there. He'll handle things," Daisuke said confidently; his faith in Taichi and his ability to seemingly fix everything was unwavering. "'Sides, Jyou's there."

"I'm surprised they're letting Jyou doctor her," Ken admitted with a small frown. "He has a personal connection...obviously." He had to add it; Daisuke looked like he was about to open his mouth to do it for him.

"Maybe it was 'cause Taichi-senpai requested him," Daisuke shrugged. He was never one to be intrigued by the finer details. What mattered was what happened, not the why. But Ken was fascinated and intrigued by "Why" and "Howcome". Sometimes Daisuke joked that he was too curious for his own good, but if Ken was too curious, then Daisuke was too reckless. It balanced out, somewhere, he supposed. How else would they be able to put up with each other as best friends?

"I guess," Ken conceded. He didn't really want to argue. He only wanted to fill the silence, to talk about something sort of irrelevent to ignore the important facts. It wasn't very like him to make small talk, usually. He didn't think he was very good at it, and obviously Daisuke agreed with him.

"It'll be -- OI, OI, TAXIIIII!" he yelled, interrupting whatever he had been about to say as he waved his hands frantically in the air. But it drove by, already claimed by a passenger tucked safely away from the rain in the confines of the back seat. Lucky... Daisuke sighed and dropped his hands, cursing under his breath. Ken agreed wholeheartedly; only a few minutes outside, and they were both sufficiently drenched.

"What will be?" Ken prodded, curiosity predictably peaked. Daisuke looked confused for a moment, before whatever he had been about to say obviously dawned on him again.

"Oh. It'll be fine. Hikari, Taichi. They'll be fine," Daisuke repeated, and Ken wondered for a moment who Daisuke was trying to convince. But maybe it was both of them; maybe he wanted to reassure himself, wanted to hear the words outloud and to believe them. He was worried, too.

"Oh. Yeah."

"You and Miyako, too," Daisuke said, and a smirk was tugging at the corner of his mouth as Ken's face turned hot. He was sure he was bright red, but he feigned stupidity anyways.

"What?"

"You and Miyako will be alright. I can feel it," he said with a wink. And then he left Ken feeling baffled as he returned to shouting for a taxi driver's attention again.

And he had been worried about Daisuke being jealous. Who was the idiot now, eh?


	10. Chapter Nine

**Author's note: **This is getting harder and harder to write, lol. Not because I don't have the muse so much as it kind of hurts emotionally to struggle on with this story. It struck me last week that I've severed ties with all the original muses for this piece, my "brother" and the friend that I had the conversation with and who reignited my love for the Digimon fandom. So I take a deep breath and plunge onward with the story I swore to finish. Hopefully I'll be able to summon the same strength to finish my other two multi-chapts for the Digimon fandom, but no promises there. One task at a time, eh? But that's why this has taken me a bit of time, combined with school work (which I reeeeally should be doing right now). Sorrrrrry!

I had a chart with who called who what during the series, but with the crashing of my laptop (again T_T) a couple weeks ago, I lost the bookmark and don't feel like looking for it. So they're going to be sporadic, and maybe or maybe not accurate, depending on what my mind wants to do while I'm writing. Unless someone wants to find that chart for me and send it to me in a PM, then I'll make an effort to be more canon and proper during the following chapters.

Sorry for any typos (how often do I say that?), but this laptop can't support a more complex word processor than WordPad without freezing and shutting down. I'm getting a new laptop within the next week or so, but until then this will have to do.

* * *

It was a difficult task, what with Daisuke making things twenty hundred times more complicated than he needed to while instigating Miyako into a temper tantrum the entire time, but just in time for Iori's curfew they managed to make something that resembled rice balls, seaweed salad, and a few other foods that they had deemed edible after Iori and Ken had acted as the food testers. When asked why they couldn't try, Iori had calmly told Miyako and Daisuke that they would eat toxic waste if they were hungry, and therefore weren't reliable test subjects. It hadn't gone over very well, but thankfully Iori had to be getting home shortly after that, only pausing on his way out to remind Miyako to refrigerate the food until Sora could drive over, or someone. He never had asked how the food was getting to Taichi-sempai and Hikari-chan, but Miyako just gave him a grin and a thumbs up.

"All taken care of, Iori. G'night!"

"Iori, is that you," his mother called as he slipped his shoes off in the front hall. He jumped at the sound of her voice, although he had been doing nothing wrong. The main hall was dark, and so he had presumed his mother and grandfather had gone to bed early. Her voice had scared him, something she seemed oblivious to when he walked into the kitchen to find her sipping tea. A store catalogue was open in front of her; she liked to look at the pictures, although they couldn't afford to splurge on the attractive contents inside.

"Yeah. Where's Grandpa," he asked curiously, looking around as though the elderly man would come hobbling around the corner. His mother put her mug down on a coaster on the table top.

"He went to bed early. He's still recovering from that cold he had a couple weeks ago." Her words were serene, but there was a pinch of worry in her eyes that made Iori frown ever so slightly. There was too much wrong lately. It was difficult to keep track of. But before he could say anything, his mother smiled again and picked up her mug for another draught. He could smell green tea from where he stood across the table from her. "He's in good shape, the doctor said. A little sleep, and he'll be good as new."

Who the words were meant to reassure, Iori couldn't tell you. But he didn't ask either; he only nodded to show that he agreed, or understood... however she wanted to interpret his silence.

"Are you hungry," she asked, looking about to get up. Iori shook his head, as in he didn't need anything.

"We ate at Miyako's," he told her, and it was true. It was also true that he simply had no appetite; he hadn't since he got the call from Miyako that something had happened to Hikari.

Sometimes he wondered if adults could read minds, or something. Or maybe it was a family trait that he'd inherit when he became an adult, because his mother and grandfather always seemed to say something that correlated perfectly to what he was thinking. The idea never occurred to him that his emotions and thoughts were simply that clear on his face. His mother was smiling in that sympathetic knowing way that mothers had. It was that smile that Hikari-chan wouldn't see anymore...

Somehow, that was what made it more real to him. He didn't really understand it. He'd gotten the phone call, they'd gone to Miyako's where they had badgered Daisuke for any information he might have gotten since Ken had first called Miyako, and they had been sobered by the understanding that something very bad had happened to someone, to two someones, who were very close friends of theirs. Iori had even lost a father, as a little boy. It shouldn't have taken so long to set in that like him, Hikari would never see her father again. But unlike Iori, Hikari and Taichi didn't have a mother to look towards now. That was gone, all gone.

"Iori, do you want me to make you a cup of tea?" She didn't mention Hikari; Iori had learned tact from his mother, even if many of his mannerisms he was often told resembled his father. She didn't mention Taichi, either. She didn't ask exactly what had happened, or if there was any new information. If he had anything to tell her, she expected that he would. It was the unspoken understanding here. But Iori found it difficult to sit in the quiet kitchen with the weight of his realization sitting in the pit of his stomach.

"No, thank you." He shook his head, and tried to smile a small smile that he wasn't sure was very successful. It was a brave effort though, one that earned him another understanding, all-too-knowing smile from his mother. He felt guilty, being able to stand here with her at all while he knew Taichi was likely pacing the hospital room. He could imagine it; he might not have had the opportunity to speak to Taichi as much as some of the other Japanese Chosen, but he knew him well enough to know how worried he would be over Hikari. Iori hated feeling that, once again, there was nothing more he could do to help than wait. "I'm tired," he excused himself lamely. "I think I'm going to study for a little while, and go to bed."

"Don't stay up too late then. Studying is only useful if you have enough sleep to remember what you learned," she reminded him. Her eyes lingered on him for another long, critical moment before returning to her shopping catalogue. "Be quiet in the hall, alright? I don't want to wake Father up. He was a bit grumpy today, wasn't he?"

Iori smiled despite himself, which he had no doubt was his mother's intention. His grandfather, usually a very quirky and upstanding model of what a Japanese man ought to be, had been in sour spirits due to the tail end of his cold and what he considered to be a startling realization that there was no more prune juice, and then apparently his sandal strap had broken... Bad omens, he had insisted when Iori and his mother had made the mistake of exchanging amused smiles when they thought the old man wasn't looking. Iori loved his grandfather, idolized him nearly as much as he did his deceased father, but there were some things that Iori wasn't as willing to put stock on... like prune juice, for instance.

"Right. Goodnight."

Iori's slippered feet padded their way to his room, a hand on the wall to guide him so that he wouldn't have to turn the hall light on in case it woke up his grandfather. It took Iori next to no time at all; he had lived in this apartment for as long as he could remember, after all. He had ever nook and cranny memorized from a very young age, and was fairly confident that had his eyes been closed and his hands stuffed in his pockets, he'd still be able to find his way to his room from any given point in the house. He didn't really want to test that theory, however. There were some very nice family heirlooms and vases in the halls that his mother wouldn't thank him for accidentally knocking into and breaking.

Once he was inside his room, Iori let out a loud sigh. It was a relief of sorts, to be in his room. He didn't mind being called a loner; he wouldn't get offended by it. Sometimes it was true. There was nothing wrong with wanting to be alone once in a while. It was hard to think and figure out how you felt when you were always surrounded by people who were trying to make themselves happy and appear upbeat and cheerful even when the world was crashing down around them, be it literally or figuratively. The Chosen had never been the sort to let their emotions carry them below the surface, which was one of their good qualities Iori supposed. But sometimes, that charisma and that friendly cheerfulness was like a drug that lulled the truth of his feelings to sleep so that they hit him with stronger force once he was alone again. He needed to get a metaphorical hand around his thoughts, he needed to understand what he was thinking, he needed to figure out how to come to terms with _waiting_.

He never thought he would actually understand how Daisuke felt, but he certainly could sympathize with his friend's antsy enthusiasm earlier. It hadn't been indecency; it had been Daisuke's way of saying he was really worried, of not knowing how to appear confident other than trying to be the gung-ho leader of obnoxious quirks that he was used to being. It was harder to roll his eyes at Daisuke when Iori was beginning to actually understand him. Iori wasn't sure how he felt about that.

Iori flipped the light switch on in his room. He hated lying, hated false agendas and saying you were doing something and then not doing it or having no intention of trying to do it. So, he had every intention of digging up a text book and at least trying to reread one of the recent chapters that he hadn't really absorbed yet. Not the most effective method of studying maybe, but it was distracting enough. But first, he fished through his desk drawer for his cell phone. He never used it, something that drove Miyako insane. But it was a card phone, one of those pay-as-you-go kind of plans where you bought a card at the corner store for a hundred minutes or something. He didn't refill it often, and he was pretty certain he was at the end of this card now... after a few months. He didn't use the phone much, which accounted for why it was in the back of his desk drawer with his D-3, D-terminal, a camera Hikari had bought him one year for his birthday, and an assortment of other electronics. Most of them were from Miyako, who tried in vain to bring Iori up to the twenty first century in technology. He liked to point out that at least he owned a computer, which was on the desk and currently asleep.

He decided to text Jyou. It might not get a reply right away, if at all, and it might be completely ineffectual, but Iori just wanted to know if maybe there was new information. He hated being at the end of the chain, the distant connection that everyone thought of at the end of the day. Maybe that wasn't true, maybe he was just tired and stressed and annoyed that this time at least, he was the last Chosen to know that something so serious had occurred. But he shoved those thoughts aside. Those weren't the kind of thoughts he had hoped to confront tonight. Or were they?

_Jyou, it's Iori_. He wasn't sure if Jyou actually still had this number programmed, it had been so long since Iori had used it to contact anyone besides his mother when he remembered to take it. _Is there anything new?_ He would understand that, right? Pretty straight and to the point. Iori hit send and let himself fall onto his bed, the phone falling to his side. It would have clattered if not for the mattress; as it was, it bounced gently twice before settling into the thick green comforter. There was no ring to suggest he had a reply.

Without the sound of buttons being pressed in a texting frenzy Iori wanted and was unaccustomed to, the room fell silent. Silence was alright with Iori, usually. When silence didn't mean that too many thoughts could run around in circles like the Digimon when they had too many sweets for the day, it was a great thing that he thought was underestimated in modern society. But tonight, he was beginning to wish he had a television in his room, or at least a radio. He grimaced; Miyako would be so thrilled to hear him admit that. Perhaps it was a bit selfish, but he made a mental note to keep that to himself. He didn't really fancy the idea of a headache, or her miraculously coming up with a television or something out of thin air. He said thin air because he didn't really want to know if she spent her own money on it or what have you.

It was miraculously easy to fall into a pattern of reading silently to himself and then reciting English vocabulary to himself for his test the following Monday at school. It seemed really weird, that to two people their world could cave in around them, but life for everyone else still went on its regular day to day routine, unshaken by something as mundane and far away as a car accident. That thought put a hitch in his study program, as he faltered turning the page. The phone beeped just then, eerily in time with his less than cheerful thoughts, and he shoved the book out of his lap so that he could reach his phone.

_Nothing yet, sorry Iori. I'll text when something happens_.

Somehow, that was a disappointing message, and Iori dropped the phone into his lap with a sigh as he slumped against his pillows. Well, he told himself, that was a good thing. That meant that nothing had gotten worse, and Hikari was... well, you know, as alright as she was when Daisuke first got the news at least. That should have been a happy message, except that Iori couldn't help but worry about Taichi. The waiting couldn't only be killing those not at the hospital; each minute must feel like agony to Taichi, not knowing if his sister was entirely alright. Not entirely. Would there ever be an entirely? Iori wasn't sure; after all, he had his mom still. It wasn't the same. Similar, but not.

Even Iori, responsible and nose-to-the-grinding-stone Iori, couldn't get himself to study again once his mind wandered as completely as it had. He figured he'd call it a night, maybe. Get some sleep. Maybe there'd be news in the morning. Hopefully. He couldn't imagine there being a next day, and a next day, and a next week, without so much as a speck of change in the monitors. Something had to give, right? One way or another, the tables had to turn.

He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and got to his feet, blinking as he stood too quickly and the room swam before falling into focus again. He was alright, he was alright. He just stood up too fast, and that happened sometimes. Plus, he was tired. Really tired. He'd just go to the bathroom down the hall, and that'd be that. Sorting through his thoughts could wait until another night; that was something that always inevitably came.

He tiptoed back down the hall, for the bathroom was only a couple doors down from the kitchen and he didn't want his mother to fret. But when he got to the bathroom door, he peered through the open kitchen door to see his mother snoring softly over the catalogue. Her hand was still firmly gripping the half-full mug. Why hadn't she just gone to bed when she was tired.

"Mom," Iori said softly, nudging her shoulder. He could have left her there, he supposed, but that couldn't be a comfortable position to wake up in. It was like falling asleep during class or something, and if those forty five minutes of snoozing could be uncomfortable, he didn't want to imagine sleeping the entire night like that. He nudged her again. "Mom, why don't you go to bed?"

She stirred, lifting her head sleepily to focus her eyes on him. He never noticed that his mother looked kind of, well... old. Older, anyway. Not old like Grandpa, but older. There were dark circles under her eyes, and faint wrinkles where Iori didn't remember there being wrinkles before. A band of gray was tucked beneath dark brown hair. It took him by surprise, but he wasn't sure if she noticed what he was staring at. She rubbed at her eyes with her free hand and sat back in the chair with a yawn.

"I wanted to stay up in case you needed anything," she said simply, quite unembarrassed by it. Iori was embarrassed though; mostly, he just felt bad she felt like she had to stay awake for him. It made him feel like he was seven years old again, and it was a good feeling. Maybe that was the embarrassing part, liking that he could run to his mother and give her a hug when frankly, life just kind of sucked. It wasn't something that he did, or that he could recall doing very often, but the point was that he could if he so chose to. If he wanted, she was there, half asleep with her tea and shopping catalogue, and she would put them down in a heart beat if he asked her to.

"I'm fine, Mom," he insisted, and he was. He wasn't the one with the problems, not really. His friends' lives seemed a lot more dramatic and difficult than his was. He wasn't going to complain. "You should get some sleep."

"Are you sure?" She frowned, looking unconvinced, but Iori nodded and she sighed. "Alright, I'm going, I'm going." She smiled at him, still looking rather sleepy. "I'll just wash my mug, and be on my way. Put this in the trash for me," she asked, pointing a finger towards the catalogue as she got to her feet. Iori did, as he listened to the sound of water running. It sounded subdued, like even the water was getting sleepy as the night progressed.

His mother was still rinsing the mug underneath the running water when Iori came up behind her and gave her a quick, strong hug. He wasn't a frequent hugger, something she very well knew. She froze at the contact, before turning her head to look at him.

"What's that for," looking confused, amused, and pleased all at once. She didn't return the hug; her hands were still wet and holding the mug, but he was okay with that.

"I love you." And then he let go, and it was back to business as usual, and she looked torn between frowning questioningly and smiling with pleasure. Boys always seem to get to an age where they think hugging was uncool, or unnecessary. That he had hugged her without her insisting or taking the initiative was a strange and uncommon occurrence, one that she didn't seem sure if she should ask questions or just roll with it. Understanding seemed to slowly seep into her expression, pushing the confusion away and weighing down the corners of her lips. Iori didn't want to see that. He turned away. "Goodnight." And he went, and brushed his teeth, and tucked himself into bed, but it was a long time before he fell asleep. He couldn't get the gleam of silver in the pale kitchen light out of his mind's eye.


	11. Chapter Ten

**Author's note:** I've been looking forward to this chapter for a long time. I'd be lying if I said I didn't build the _entire_ story around this chapter. I had so much fun writing the first sketch of it, and then going in and fleshing it out. I guess "fun" sounds pretty morbid when you think about it, but anyone who writes excessively knows that it's fun to explore the extremes of human feeling. Because pain, pleasure, and overall emotions are as strong as the personality type perceives them, I'm not a believer in "unrealistic" pain. I know I tend to feel twenty times worse than the doctor tells me I am, because when you think about it you expect it to hurt. That kind of thing. Someone understands what I'm saying, right? Lol.

* * *

Hikari Yagami had seen a lot of strange things in her life time. She had ridden on the back of a giant dinosaur-like digimon, and seen the computer in her dad's study birth an egg (although she recalled little of both of those events that her brother remembered clearly, and with a shudder). She had seen a cat talk, been taken captive by a giant bubble, seen Taichi cry, Yamato actually apologize for something, and Takeru lose his cool. Her brother and friends had been kidnapped by a miserable, lonely digimon looking for his lost partner, saved the world twice (once as an eight year old girl), witnessed greed and self-sacrifice, and been called to another world to _mate_ with the Digimon that lived there (as if that wasn't enough to make you twitch, the world was also black and white and full of your most secret nightmares).

But she had never, throughout all of that, felt as though she wasn't _in_ her body. As surreal as it all was, she knew it was happening. She had never doubted it when Wizardmon died, when Tailmon had declared herself Hikari's partner, or when her body had been possessed by the spirit of her crest, or whatever it was. She had never felt like an observer of her own life. She had never had that proclaimed "out of body experience". But she felt it now. Her body felt so weighed down by... something. And her mind didn't like it. It was like she was drifting, walking but sitting, talking but silent. Like she was two people, sharing a body, and one of those people had decided to go out for a while. It was a strange feeling, and she wasn't sure she liked it, but it seemed like a lot of energy to call the other person back. What was she going to do, tell it she was lonely? And then she felt silly, because there wasn't anyone else there. Was there?

And then it was over, and god her head hurt, but she couldn't move yet. Her body wasn't listening to her, and that was alright. She wasn't listening to anything else either. Not at first, anyways. The world felt very calm, and peaceful, and quiet. She felt happy, and content, like you did when you took pain killers after getting a tooth pulled at the dentist. There was nothing that could kill that drugged high. Actually, now that she thought about it, it felt _exactly_ like pain killers, like she was numb. And she was happy like that. She wanted to be numb. There was this nagging feeling deep, deep down where she supposed that person who had gone for a walk must live, telling her there was something she was supposed to be thinking about, something she needed to remember. But she didn't really feel like remembering at the moment. She was floating on a cloud, dancing on a rain drop, flying with her fingers brushing against the ocean's spray off the waves. She didn't want some silly thought to ruin her happiness.

That nagging feeling was rebelling though, calling her an idiot and telling her to _wake up_. That was absolutely preposterous, wasn't it. She _was_ awake! She thought. Maybe? She couldn't hear; where was she, that it was so silent? But even as she thought that, she began to hear things. It was like having ear plugs in. You could still hear, but it was muffled, as though it were a far away conversation. Because it was certainly a conversation. And that stupid nagging feeling that was ruining her precious silence was telling her that the voices were familiar. She knew the people talking. And as she thought _that_, the conversation slowly became clearer. Now it was more like diving into a pool, and hovering with your head just below the surface, so that you could hear everyone laughing and talking, but the waves distorted the sound. She groaned. It was giving her a headache, this low hum of conversation. It hesitated. Her precious silence, it was back!

She had thought, at least, that she had slipped back into her silence, that happy little bubble of warmth, and safety, and ignorance that, although she knew deep down in her heart that it was wrong to stay there, felt like the best place in the world. _Both_ worlds. Faded memories were playing behind her closed eyelids like an old home movie. Some of them were missing dialogue, like silent plays, but others had snatches of conversation that sounded just as dim and unclear as the conversation that had invaded her silence. She wanted it back. She didn't want to think. She didn't want to! It felt dangerous, this collection of memories. If it kept playing long enough, something bad would happen. She felt a terror that she couldn't understand without that memory, but she didn't want to understand it either. She groaned again. She had such a _headache_...

The voices were talking again. Clear, but low. They were whispering, she realized dimly. She didn't really care. She just wanted them to stop.

"Is she awake?"

"I dunno... Her eyes are shut."

Was that Yamato-kun? Since when was he so noisy? She wanted to tell him to be quiet; didn't he realize she wanted silence? A song wouldn't be so bad... She could get lost in a song, just like she could get lost in the dark, warm silence. But she didn't understand why she wanted to get lost. Was that bad, not wanting to be found? Did that make her a bad person, Nii-san? Nii-san? Where was he? He was always here. Panic was rising in her chest, it hurt to breathe and she was frightened. She didn't hear her Nii-san's voice. She wasn't safe, was she? She needed him. It was important, he had to be here. She didn't know why, but he had to be. He had to be!

"Hikari-chan?" That wasn't Nii-san. That was Takeru. Oh, Takeru-kun! Her breath fluttered, but then it slowed down a little. She felt a little more calm, hearing Takeru's voice. But there was something very important, the nagging voice told her again. It was louder now, more demanding. She couldn't push it away anymore, out of the bubble around her consciousness. It wanted to talk to Takeru, it wanted him to understand something. It wanted him to not be mad at her.

"Takeru-kun?" Her throat felt raw, and she almost cried at the pain it caused to talk. But she had to, the stupid voice in her head wouldn't leave her alone. His hand was on her hand, and gripping it so hard that it almost hurt. But it was a good hurt. It was safe. "Takeru-kun, the phone... I'm sorry, I--"

"You didn't hang up on me," he said quietly. He sounded upset. Really upset, that way he sounded when he was smiling and trying not to cry, but his eyes were probably really bright. But her eyes wouldn't open. They felt heavy. She felt tired, so, so tired, and she wanted to curl back up in that bubble and go back to sleep. But she couldn't. The others were talking now, and they sounded excited and Takeru was upset. They wanted her awake; she couldn't be so selfish, to take from them what they wanted. But she didn't understand. Why didn't they want to let her sleep? She was tired. It wasn't very nice, to keep someone up when they were tired. She tried to return the pressure on Takeru's grip, but it was too hard. She managed little more than a twitch, and in return he squeezed her hand even harder. Sure, raise the bar even higher, Takeru. Thanks.

"Whassgoinon?!" _That_, that was Taichi-niisan's voice! She knew it, she knew it was, and he sounded so scared, so excited and so frightened, that sleeping was no longer an option. She knew she couldn't turn away from Taichi. Besides, the panic was calling for him, begging him to stop... something. To know... something. She grimaced, though she didn't realize that the action wasn't only in her mind. Her face contorted, and Taichi seemed all in a panic as he reached for her other hand. One hand held hers in a death grip. The other went to her cheek, her forehead, as though checking for fever. She struggled to open her eyes. Epic fail. "Is she okay? Is she hurt? She was talking, is she awake? Hikari?!"

"Nii...Onii..." She tried to talk again, but her throat was raw, and all that she really succeeded at was emitting a soft whimper of pain, and Taichi's grip on her hand became _actually_ painful. Like, she wasn't sure if the whimper was because of her throat, or that.

"Shh. Don't talk. You're okay. You're..." His voice strayed off, and that nagging voice got even stronger, begging her to open her eyes and _remember_. But she was scared to. It was still a little warm, with her eyes closed. But something landed on her cheek that felt a lot like a tear. Takeru? Or Taichi?

"I'm going to get Jyou." Sora? That was Sora's voice, wasn't it? And the one who asked if she was awake, that was Yamato right? She tried to blink. It was hard, but she managed it. The second time it was a little easier, and by the fourth time she could keep her eyes open, although it hurt. And the warmth was gone, replaced by cold white lights and a soft beeping that she was startled to realize came from a machine next to her. Her wrist itched a little. She lowered her eyes to find an IV drip connected there.

"My head hurts," she told Taichi quietly. He cringed, like it hurt him that _she_ hurt, and she wanted to give him a hug. But if her eyes were heavy, her body was like lead. It wouldn't move, and she gave up trying to sit up when she realized it absolutely exhausted her, and now her head was throbbing. Her eyes flickered back to the machine, thoroughly confused, and a little bit scared. She didn't spend that much time in the hospital, except for when she fell ill with pneumonia as a little girl. She didn't understand the beeping or the numbers or the green lines or the drip. And she didn't understand why she was here, she didn't understand... She didn't feel sick, she just had a splitting headache. She hadn't realized, yet, the bandages encasing her rib cage, hadn't taken into consideration the scrapes and cuts on the hand that Takeru was holding so carefully. Maybe she didn't notice them right away, because they weren't quite as apparent as they were that first night two weeks ago that was currently beyond her.

The nagging voice wanted to shake her. _Remember! You have to!_

"Hey kiddo." Just on the other side of Takeru, Yamato had taken a seat on the very edge of her bed, careful not to touch her. She tried to smile. It hurt, but she tried. It just made her jaw hurt. "You've had a good sleep, huh?" She blinked and frowned at him. Yamato was smiling, but it was a worried smile. That wasn't like him. Takeru had the same look, the same worried excitement. Happy she was awake, worried about her. But why?

"What do you mean?"

Yamato frowned. Takeru was looking at Taichi expectantly. But Taichi's voice still seemed to be failing him. His mouth was a tight line and his eyes were dark and bright at the same time, and it scared Hikari more than the machines, or Takeru's bright eyes. Takeru worried about her, she knew that. But for Taichi to be upset, and _silent_... And if she remembered, would she look like that too? She didn't want to. He'd worry more. She shrank back into her pillows. She didn't want anyone to answer her question, but she didn't have a choice. It was asked. Takeru opened his mouth to answer her, or perhaps even to say "Don't worry about it", although that wasn't Takeru's normal style. But she wished that was what he'd say. She didn't _want_ to worry about it. But another voice spoke instead, and Takeru's mouth closed before he got a word out.

"So she's awake! How're you feeling, Hikari-chan?" It was Jyou. Good ol' Jyou. But he'd tell her exactly what she didn't want to hear. She wished, that small part of her that wasn't afraid to admit she was afraid, that she could go back to sleep. Just, slip right back into the comfortable unknowing silence, but she couldn't. She couldn't, and she knew she wouldn't even if she could. Taichi looked miserable. She didn't want him to look like that.

"She has a headache," Takeru piped up when Hikari nor Taichi said anything. She also suspected that he just didn't want to look at her anymore, and have his attention focused elsewhere. Or rather, he didn't want to be lost in his thoughts. Saying something, answering a question, it was better than sitting there in silence. Action may be avoiding a thought, but sometimes, maybe, it made the thought unimportant in the long run. She wished she knew what Takeru was thinking. Would his thought be unimportant, answering Jyou's question? Judging from the look on his face, it wasn't likely. Hikari caught his eye, and he smiled at her.

"Kind of expected that, to be honest. Someone's moving; I need to be able to get within a foot of the bed, if you don't mind." He sounded rather lighthearted, but there was still the old Jyou in there. He was in 'doctor mode', 'responsible Jyou' mode, and he didn't take well to obstructions that hindered him from doing what he felt he had to do. But the others knew that as well, if not better than Hikari, for they had known Jyou longer than she had. Takeru released her hand and backed away from the bed when Taichi showed no signs of moving. Yamato followed his lead, going to stand by Sora near the doorway, beyond where Hikari could see them. She didn't like that; she didn't want to lose sight of Takeru. He made her feel less afraid.

She kept her eyes on Jyou, however frightening his news might be, while he checked her eyes and mentioned something for her throat when he inspected it and saw it was raw. She wanted to ask why it felt like she was lined with sandpaper, but she didn't. Jyou didn't have the same anxious, uncertain look as the others. He was focusing on getting better, asking her if her head felt a little better, and could she move her hand? A finger? Don't worry, you've been out a solid two weeks. Your body needs time to regain its motor skills.

"Wait, two weeks," she asked, alarmed. She tried to swivel her head towards Taichi, eyes wide, but the mere attempt at the action sent a sharp, searing pain shooting along the right side of her head. She yelped and squeezed her eyes shut before she could catch herself. When she opened them again, Jyou had placed a tentative hand on her shoulder.

"Steady there; you've got quite a bit of healing to do." Now he looked worried, frowning at her. "Anything else hurt?"

She had noticed now the ribs and the faint cuts on her hands. Her eyes had hesitantly followed Jyou has he turned his attention to each area of concern with a doctor's precision. That memory was closer to the surface, poking and prodding at the barrier between her subconscious and conscious mind, and she was terrified. She didn't want it to break that barrier. She didn't know why though. She couldn't figure out what she was suppressing, which might be the entire point. It still frightened her in a way that she didn't know how to vocalize.

"I'm going to have the nurse give you more pain killers in a little bit; it'll make you a little more comfortable while you're still healing up." He glanced at the beeper at his waist and sighed. "I'd like to stick around for a bit, but I'm needed. I'll check in on you in a bit, and you can shout for a nurse if you need to get me, alright?" He didn't wait for Hikari to nod; she thought he didn't expect it, which she was grateful for. The others seemed to have much higher expectations, but trying to figure out what those were was tiring. And painful. Taichi still hadn't let go of his hand, and Jyou hadn't made him. She assumed that meant it was in good enough condition not for him to care.

When he was gone, Takeru reclaimed his place at Hikari's bedside. No one else had moved towards it, as though he had staked a claim on it while she had been asleep. He probably had, as passively territorial as Daisuke tried to be when he was worried about her. She smiled, mentally of course. It kind of hurt to move her jaw too much, like she had been punched. She didn't try to pull her hand away when he took it in his again. She felt safe again, a little calmer, like he was channeling positive thoughts through the simple touch.

Taichi, on the other hand, was making her feel close to panic. She looked at his face, and her heart fluttered and her mind raced and she felt herself having difficulty breathing and she forced herself to concentrate on slow, as-deep-as-she-could-manage breaths before he could notice that the memory she had been shoving back for two weeks was slowly beginning to trickle through cracks in her line of defense.

"Mom." She said suddenly. "And Dad. Nii-san, what--" She was struggling to sit more upright. Jyou had adjusted her pillows to get a little lift, but she couldn't reach the bed remote to make it sit up for her. Nobody made a move to help her, too busy staring at her with eyes that looked, if she wasn't mistaken, frightened. And then they slowly turned to Taichi. She paused in her struggles to sit up, no longer too lost in the battle with her mind to miss these subtle hints. They were worried, and afraid.... but it wasn't quite as much for her as it was for Taichi. She was physically hurt. She'd get better, given enough meds and bed rest. But what was wrong with her Nii-san?

"Takeru, you should call Daisuke and the others," Yamato suggested in a low voice. It was subtle, but Hikari caught the dual meaning. They were clearing the room. Her throat felt closed up, no longer raw but numb and suffocating. Something was wrong, something was very, very wrong and she was beginning to fear what she had unleashed by her seemingly innocent question. She had thought that maybe they were behind that curtained bed over there, or maybe in another room. Maybe they had gone home, cured and needing to return to their daily lives. Jyou said it had been two weeks, right? In two weeks, they'd get better, need to get back to work. Mom would come as soon as Taichi called... She must have been really mad at Dad though; they had been fighting a lot, shouting so loudly that Hikari could hear them over the music from her MP3 player. Would they have begun the separating process in two weeks? Were they going to separate? She hoped not; they fought, but everyone fought. They could fix it, like any parents could. They were adults. But a car accident, you know, did complicate the situation....

"Since you're awake... and look alright, I've got to get home. It's getting a bit late, and I promised Mom I'd be home at a decent hour," Sora said quietly, shrugging apologetically at Hikari. But she, too, disguised the hidden meaning in her words. This was a conversation to be between Hikari and Taichi, and only Hikari and Taichi. Hikari gulped. She wasn't sure she liked what that insinuated, but she said nothing. She didn't entirely trust herself to, but instead used the excuse of a raw throat to keep from responding. "Yamato..." Sora hesitated. "Could you bring me home, do you think?"

"Yeah," he replied automatically. He sounded stiff, and glanced at Taichi for signs of disapproval. Maybe he saw none, lost in the folds of worry and anxiety and distress that were already apparent. Whatever the case, Yamato glanced towards Takeru. "Am I taking you home, kiddo?"

Takeru narrowed his eyes at the word 'kiddo', but otherwise made no note of it. "No. Mom said she'll get me later." He sounded cheerful, but Hikari heard the steel in her best friend's voice. He'd allow himself to be ushered away from her bedside for a phone call that might not answer almost any of Daisuke's flood of questions that Hikari could imagine him throwing at Takeru just to throw him off his game. But he wouldn't be taken away; he was staying here, in the building, until Hikari or Taichi dismissed him. Hikari didn't care what Taichi wanted; she wanted Takeru to stay, right here. But he left the room with the others, after a reassuring smile and a quick wave. The smile didn't quite reach his eyes.

Hikari and Taichi sat in silence for a long time after the hospital door snapped shut with a metallic click that echoed in the silent room. Hikari didn't look at Taichi. She looked at the curtain across the room, the door, the tiles, the machine, her hand, the IV drip, anything within her peripheral vision that she could look at instead of her brother's face. She couldn't resist one peek though. He looked like he was fighting his own battle in his mind, one that she both wanted to help with and selfishly wished would never end, because if it never ended then she would never have to hear what was making her grow more terrified by the moment. She never wanted the waiting to end; she was afraid of what would end it.

But she couldn't take it, the look on his face. Whatever selfish desires lie within her, they weren't enough to allow her to permit her brother to look so... tortured, pained, miserable. She couldn't take it. She'd drive herself insane if she looked at him any longer. She took a deep breath, opened her mouth, and then closed it again. It took her three more tries to get anything out, and at first she thought she had spoken too quietly for him to hear her.

"Taichi," she said again, more loudly this time. At least, she hoped it was more loudly. Her throat was killing her, making it impossible to gouge the strength of her words. But he looked up sharply, as though startled back to the reality of the cold, white hospital room by his own name. She never called him by name. She startled herself by it too, but she needed to get his attention. His eyes looked oddly bright; it wasn't right, not on Taichi.

"...Where's Mom and Dad?"


	12. Chapter Eleven

**Author's notes: **I'm trying to make the rounds and update everything (consider that my Christmas present, dolls), so sorry if this gets neglected again for a week or two after this update. This is my most planned out story, but it's by far not the oldest, and I really need to tie up those loose ends so that my conscious can rest easy. Yes, I know it's just fanfiction. But I do this for readers, more so than just my own enjoyment sometimes, and therefore I want to deserve the encouraging reviews I get whenever I update.

I tried make this longer, but I couldn't keep writing it. Personal reasons and... other things, I don't know. But hopefully, the really depressing excuse of a cliffhanger won't make everyone twitch. I'll make up for it next update.

On a side note, why does everyone assume that because I'm American, I've only watched the English dub? I've watched the Japanese, both seasons and the movies. And that's the end of that, thank you!

As with all of my A/N's announcing "the end" of a stupid discussion, I have a very sad feeling that I'm going to get a reply concerning this despite that... Sigh.

* * *

"Taichi, where's Mom and Dad?"

She never called him Taichi. Hikari never did. It felt like more of a smack to the face than the words, or maybe it _was_ the words and his brain was just too shocked by... _everything_ to be able to figure out what shocked him most. His head hurt. He didn't want to talk about this, not with his sister or Sora or anyone else. He just wanted to go play soccer, kick the ball as hard as he could, through the net...

"Nii-san?"

This time, Taichi raised his dark brown eyes to meet his sister's. When she had said his name – his name, not his title – she had sounded almost angry with him, annoyed that he didn't answer her immediately when she asked. But now, reverting back to "brother", she sounded like a scared little girl, the one he still saw in his memory sometimes when he thought about days when she hadn't been willing to fight her own battles, or had been too weak too. There had been days when she _needed_ him, not just wanted him around for company. That day had come again, and he didn't realize till now just how much he wished those memories could stay in the past.

It was the hardest thing he ever had to do, telling his sister that after her big night, she was the sole survivor. After her parents had driven to her event, they had died. She blamed herself. He saw it in her eyes, the moment he said "They...they didn't, you know, make it..." while his voice trailed off as his mind conjured up images that he was glad Hikari could never, and would never, see. Tears brimmed her eyes, but they didn't fall. Not while he was looking. She told him she was sleepy, and she wanted to ask Takeru something.

" He was on the phone with me. I don't remember what we were talking about," she told him, and although Taichi _sincerely_ doubted that to be the case, he nodded and kissed her forehead. She didn't flinch, but she lowered her eyes. He hadn't done that since she was very little and sick. He thought a tear fell, but it was gone when he did a double take. She was good at that, hiding her tears.

" I'll check in on you in a little bit, okay?" She nodded mutely. He sincerely hoped this wasn't going to become a pattern; he thought he might _actually _snap if she wouldn't say a word to him without locking up. He needed his little sister, and that just made him angry with himself, because she needed _him_. He had no business being weak, not when she needed him to be what he'd always been for her.

Takeru was standing right outside the door, leaning against the hallway wall and looking half asleep. He seemed lost in his own thoughts, gazing at the wall opposite him without really seeming to see it. He jumped when Taichi touched his shoulder. Taichi frowned at him thoughtfully; the kid had probably slept about as much as he had, and that wasn't much. There were dark smudges under his eyes, which were red in the corners. When his mother permitted him to spend the night at the hospital, Takeru had been Taichi's silent companion during the off hours when not even Sora could manage to stay awake to keep him company.

But maybe he'd sleep easier tonight, knowing Hikari was going to be okay. Taichi wouldn't, but he'd keep that to himself. He had demons to confront, and he wasn't ready to face his dreams quite yet. His nightmares, the ones that had attacked him that first night when he had dozed in Yamato's car. He still couldn't fathom how he had fallen asleep; Jyou said it was system overload or something like that, his brain going into shock and needing to recover. 'A manly form of fainting', as Taichi thought of it.

"She's askin' for you," Taichi told him, and Takeru straightened up. He looked confused, eyes speaking the question his voice wouldn't ask. Taichi shrugged. "She said it's about the phone call." He didn't need to say that he didn't believe it; Takeru could see that plainly enough. He knew Taichi, knew how he thought. Takeru frowned.

"Should I..." He glanced at the room, and Taichi knew he wanted to run in. He would, if Sora were in there. He wanted to anyway; that was his baby sister. But she had all but dismissed him. She was too nice to say the words, but she didn't want to see him. He understood, even if it hurt. It hurt to look at a constant reminder, but she had to eventually. He had faced it. He had faced his mother in her face, her eyes. She had to look at him one day. Soon. Jyou said that as soon as her head healed up, she would be going home. She'd be at 90% then, Jyou had told Taichi with a sympathetic pat on the back. The other ten percent would be her ribs and her heart, but at least one of those would heal relatively quickly.

Jyou had told him to take care of himself too, but Taichi thought little about that part.

"Yeah. Make sure she gets some rest, 'kay?" Takeru nodded, and Taichi left without another word. He didn't know what else to say. He'd been like that a lot during the past two weeks, so lost in his own head that he couldn't think of what to say to people who knew him better than anyone. He should have been able to talk to them, but it was really hard. It felt like it took so much effort just to listen to them, and to nod, and walk, and do those ordinary things. Talking just felt beyond him; gratefully, nobody had pushed him just yet. Sora would just lean her head on his shoulder, and Yamato wasn't much of a talker in his own right. Koushiro checked in once in a while as official best friend, but he couldn't sit in the hospital forever. Neither could Yamato or Sora, and he knew that. They stayed as long as they could, but they and Takeru had school too, and work and things to take care of. Taichi had school too, and soccer, but he'd called the coach and the school. They said it was fine, take his time, and Hikari could take her time too...

That was probably the last time he had a conversation that consisted of more than a few words on his part, because he had to apologize and explain. He was glad he didn't have to explain to Sora. She understood, and she was there when she could be. But there were a lot of hours in the night and days when he didn't know what to do with himself. He'd become a ghost of the cafeteria, not really eating but poking at soup or a piece of cake anyway, or staring at the television without hearing the program in the lounge. And he sat with Hikari.

But since the last was already taken by Takeru, and by her request, he went to the cafeteria. It wasn't too late; there wasn't a chance Takeru's mother would let him still be there on a school night otherwise. He might not be sleeping, but Takeru still met his curfew. Yamato enforced it in an attempt to retain his newly patched relationship with their mom. Maybe Sora and Yamato would be eating, and he could sit with them. And make things more awkward, he thought to himself. The two barely talked, although they were partners in keeping an eye on him while at the hospital. He hoped they didn't think he hadn't noticed, but they never gave him enough credit. He'd have to be dead himself not to see them watching out of the corners of their eyes, sitting together but not speaking. Sora still felt guilty, breaking up with Yamato, even though she was with Taichi now. Yamato simply didn't wanna screw up something with Sora and Taichi, and the result was a silent mound of awkward that Taichi really didn't care enough to comment on at the moment. He just wanted one of his best friends and his girlfriend and the smell of chocolate, even if he still didn't feel like eating.

He didn't find them in the cafeteria, though. He frowned, but that wasn't anything. So he went to check the lounge, but he couldn't find them there either. _That_ was irritating. If they had left, couldn't they at least tell him? And that confused him too, because Yamato would have taken Takeru. They couldn't have left the hospital, but he didn't know where else they might be. He went outside, because Sora was uncomfortable in hospitals and he had found her sitting on the bus bench a time or two, but the bench was empty.

So Taichi went back inside and flopped on the pleather couch in the lounge, looking thoroughly irritated at the idea of his girlfriend and best friend – coincidentally, her ex – being missing. It irritated him more than he expected it to. Later, he thought that he just wanted to get mad at something he could yell at, something that was normal and familiar to him and everyone. He wanted to be jealous and aggravated, because it was easier than feeling numb and cold and not quite all there, if you know what I mean. But at that moment, it was raw and irrational and he allowed himself to stew in it because the alternative was thinking about Hikari, and that hurt a lot more. That led to think about things that he wasn't sure how to think about yet.

He had to be a _father_ figure. And a mother. And a brother. He was going to have split personalities in his head before he even graduated Uni. He groaned and hit his head against the wall behind his chair. That had been precisely the thought that he was trying to avoid. Irrationally, the anger sparked up again, anger at Yamato and Sora for being nowhere around and Jyou for being one hundred and one other places and Hikari for wanting Takeru over him and Daisuke for expecting him to be oh-fearless leader, and his thoughts stopped really making sense even to him as he let anger at everyone burn like an unwatched fire in his mind, letting it devour every unwanted hurt and feeling until there was nothing but ash and exhaustion.

And that's when Sora peeked her head in the doorway.

_About time_, Taichi thought, and he had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from saying it out loud. His self control seemed questionable lately. His mind was too tired to filter, something he had been working really hard on since the early days of Sora and his friendship, when they used to bicker all the time because of a lack of said filter. He had no desire to revisit those days, even when inspired by fits of paranoia and overall fear of the dark and unknown. It was kind of laughable actually. The bearer of the crest of courage was shaking in his cleats.

Maybe it had all been in the goggles, he mused humorlessly.

"There you are," Sora breathed, looking relieved. Taichi didn't reply, nor did he really understand. She had been the one to mysteriously up and vanish, he thought, not him. "We looked in Hikari's room, but –"

"She wanted to talk to Takeru. Alone," he added dully, slumping a little in his chair. Geez, he was really tired. Being mad wore you out, he thought. He didn't know how people got angry so often, and so quickly. He couldn't handle it; his brain wasn't made to function on "hate". He had tried hella hard though.

"We saw." She frowned at him, looking as though she were studying his face. Taichi averted his eyes. He wasn't in the mood for one of Sora's 'deep and sensitive' moments. He wanted to be mad, darn it! Or rather, he wanted to sleep. If she'd just sit down, he could use her shoulder as a pillow for a minute... Maybe five, or ten. An hour. Twenty. What did it matter, really?

"Where's Yamato," he asked, and he hoped it was only in his imagination that he heard the dig. Maybe it was, because Sora didn't seem to catch it. The frown disappeared, replaced by an eager smile as she waved to someone behind her – Yamato, obviously, he thought. – which did relatively little to improve Taichi's mood. To be fair though, he couldn't think of anything that would improve his move.

And then Agumon walked in. Or he kinda... well, it wasn't a waddle, but it didn't really resemble a normal walk anyway, and why the hell was he analyzing the way his best friend in all the worlds was walking when he was here, in the hospital where Taichi's own personal hell seemed to be unraveling? He jumped into Taichi's lap, and maybe it was a good thing because Taichi's reflexes were a bit slow from stress and lack of sleep, and his arms took a second to respond to his brain and hug his buddy.

"We thought you might be getting kinda lonely during the day," Yamato said casually, leaning against the door frame. Sora walked towards Taichi, sitting on the couch next to him and leaning against his side. There was a guilty smugness in the back of Taichi's mind; they might have been scheming this together, but they weren't really talking still. More like allies in the moment, not quite friends yet. He shouldn't have felt better because of that, his two best friends being on such awkward footing. But it strangely served to strengthen his own security, and he needed a little boost to his ego when he was doing such a good job of questioning and doubting himself.

"Is this where you two have been? The digital world?" He hugged Agumon, as though he might poof in the next minute too. He couldn't imagine it; even if they went years without seeing each other, he always had known Agumon was okay. Taichi couldn't imagine him... not. But then, he reminded himself bitterly, he still woke up from the occasional catnap expecting to find his mother leaning over Hikari's hospital bed, fretting, their father sitting in the chair next to her with his hands twisting guiltily in his lap the way they did any time he thought Hikari was hurt or sick because of him. Maybe that was where Taichi got it from, that gnawing guilt that he was responsible, that she was this fragile thing that had to be protected at all costs.

"I would have met them," Agumon said, sounding a little disappointed, as though he had lost a race or something. "But I didn't know they were coming. I was watching my area," he told Taichi with wide eyes, like a little kid looking for approval. But he was a seriously kickass little kid. Taichi smiled. It was a little smile, and it felt more than a little sad, but it was a smile. When he was with Agumon, he remembered being ten years old and feeling invincible.

"And doing a really good job, I'm sure," Taichi promised, and Agumon beamed. And then he got serious, and Taichi really hated when Agumon got serious, because it was like Taichi getting serious when he had been ten years old and invincible: it took a lot for that smiling face to straighten out, then frown, and not be joking.

"I'm really sorry, Tai." And Taichi didn't have a doubt as to what Agumon was talking about; it certainly had nothing to do with something in his so-called territory, where there had been nothing more serious than petty spats between the Digimon living there in a long, long time.

"S'okay, buddy." What else was he supposed to say? 'Me too'? It occurred to him. Actually, it was what he opened his mouth to say. But he couldn't say it. It sounded too... he didn't know; the word wasn't in his vocabulary. Maybe Koushiro would have the word in his neverending arsenal of ways to make Taichi look like an idiot, as every best friend since childhood ought. But he couldn't bring himself to say it. Not with Sora's weight leaning on him, and Yamato watching from the doorway, and Agumon looking at him with such sad eyes. They reminded him of a basset hound. He wished he could help. Taichi did too; he wished that Agumon could pepper breath the bastard who did this to his life.

But there wasn't really anyone to blame. No one but the rainy night and his parents for bickering and ruining Hikari's big night, and the big night itself, and he couldn't just... you know, attempt to blow up the world because he was miserable in it at the moment. Too many other people, people who might be indirectly connected with the horrible chain of events that had led to Taichi's present, were content with their load. He wouldn't ruin theirs, even if the idea had occurred to him. And it had, in those fleeting hours between sunset and dawn when he was the only one awake besides the skeleton crew nurses who pat him on the shoulder or offered him something to eat whenever they came in to check on Hikari's vitals. Even in his worst lows, his angriest moments when he let the bitterness rage because it was easier than stifling it with his strained energy resources, he had never been able to seriously consider hating everyone, everything. He didn't hate life. He just hated his, at the moment. No big deal, right?

"No it isn't, Tai," Yamato said from the door way. He didn't move any closer; knowing Yamato, he didn't want to be closer to his ex than he needed to be in the small lounge. But his eyes, cold blue, were staring through Taichi, the brunette would swear to it. It was seriously disconcerting. "I thought you'd at least tell Agumon." He sounded annoyed, not quite disgusted but... frustrated. He didn't like his plan foiling right in front of him. Taichi pursed his lips, but he didn't say anything. It seemed to be the opposite of what Yamato wanted, because the blond looked pretty ticked with him. Even Sora sighed and pulled away from Taichi, pulling her feet up onto the sofa and wrapping her arms around her knees. She did that at home, he noted dimly, when she was upset with her mom. He didn't know she'd ever done it because of him, but he figured it only made sense: he found her last nerve and poked it with a stick a lot.

"Hikari's talking to Takeru. Maybe not about... you know," Sora said lamely, and Taichi couldn't help but find it a little bit funny that they wanted him to talk, but they couldn't find it in themselves to talk about it either. He kept that sick piece of humor to himself though. His sense of humor was getting really twisted up by the lack of sleep, he decided. "But she's talking." Sora reached for his hand, resting hers on top of his, which was still holding Agumon in a lax embrace. "You've barely said anything in weeks, Tai." She lowered her eyes, and he realized her lip was quivering. God, please don't cry. He couldn't handle crying. He really couldn't. He'd never been any good with tears.

"We're worried about ya, man."

Taichi frowned. When Yamato admitted to being worried about anything besides his hair and whether or not his guitar was in tune, then he had to admit that he was a little concerned too. But it was in a detached sort of way, like they were talking about Jyou or Daisuke or Koushiro. Not about him. He didn't worry people.

Except he was. That was the detached part of his brain, the part that saw him as the someone else, some separate entity inside his brain. It was a really bizarre feeling, split by fear and depression and anxiety that Taichi wasn't accustomed to, even in his darkest moments in his life. He'd never felt lost, not in the same way he did now.

"I've talked," was his lame defense. Sora opened her mouth, but Yamato snorted his objection, and she closed it.

"You've asked if Hikari's awake. You've asked if you missed Jyou, if he had anything new to say. You've asked us to keep an eye on her so you could whiz." Because the musician had such a way with words, didn't he? "What about you, Tai? We know how Hikari is. We know she'll be okay." He didn't add physically, or anything else like that. Taichi caught the implication without difficulty. It seemed to be the only thing he could grasp with his sluggish, exhausted mind: He was talking about Hikari. He could get that.

"Talk to me. Talk to us," she amended, and her eyes flitted quickly towards Yamato. But his eyes were still focused on Taichi, as though determined to make him crack. Taichi wouldn't look at him; he was afraid he really would, if he met Yamato's eyes. But the only other place to look was at Agumon, and he had been oddly quiet, and he looked worried, and the image of a misshapen, orange basset hound came to mind again and Taichi wasn't sure if it was a sob or a laugh that tried to escape from his throat, but Sora didn't miss it.

"It's okay, you know," she said quietly, squeezing his hand with hers. "To cry. To be upset. It takes courage to cry, too. To admit you have to cry. To admit you're scared. That's really hard. That takes bravery, Taichi. You're brave."

He wished she hadn't said that. He might not have cracked, he might not have cried, if she hadn't.


	13. Chapter Twelve

**Author's Note: **This is _going _be a happier chapter. Maybe not like, skipping through the forest with a basket full of cookies happy, but it will be happier than Taichi being all sadface and blah. But aren't you all proud of me, I've updated more than one story in less than one month! Happy holidays, guys! Also, I've still got that Digimon RPG if anyone is interested. I know you can't send links themselves in private messages, but I've got other means. Just say in a review if you're interested.

Thank you, MLIA, for all the inspiration you give me when my brain runs dry.

Also, I want to say thank you to a dear friend for helping me figure out why this chapter was proving so difficult to write, because once you face your fears and your insecurities head on, they seem a lot less scary than they did before. Or at least, they stop being elusive and intangible. You can give them names, assign faces and figures. When we can picture our fear, it's a lot more manageable. ...And I'm sure that babble meant little to nothing to everyone. The point? I don't know: don't be afraid to face your fears, I guess. You can be afraid, but don't let fear control and consume you. I do believe that is also a lesson underlined in Digimon. Seriously, where would my moral state be without that show?

And I thank you all for seventy three reviews thus far of this story. It makes me happy and keeps me wanting to continue it farther than I've ever continued a story on FF, as I've mentioned several times before.

* * *

Sora couldn't remember having ever seen Taichi cry before. It was kind of numbing, truth be told. He was always the strong leader, you know? Always the one who had the answers, the one who Yamato had once accused of spending so much time looking forward that he never paused to look behind and remember. He was looking back now, and Sora wished he wouldn't. Sora wished he'd keep plowing forward the way he always had.

Yamato disagreed.

They didn't talk much when they were around each other. They hadn't in months, except for short nods or "thanks" or "whatever"s when they were all hanging out together. They only spoke now because they were on the same side: help Taichi. As far as Sora knew, Yamato didn't hold her relationship with Taichi against the latter at all. His 'beef', as Mimi had put it during one of Sora's rare heart-to-hearts over the phone, was with Sora. Taichi wouldn't have dated Sora if Yamato hadn't told him it was alright and if Taichi hadn't believed it. Sora knew that. She didn't like the tension, maybe. She hated the animosity, the unease that she had never felt with Yamato before. But she couldn't complain, either.

Especially since, despite all that, he was still willing to bring her home.

Occasionally she wondered if it had been Takeru who suggested it to Yamato, or if Taichi had asked him during the rare moments when he was around and talking (although admittedly not about anything concerning him directly). But whatever the case, Yamato let her get in the back seat. Takeru took shot gun, which she was a tiny bit thankful for. Some might have felt insulted being shuffled to the back seat, but it removed her obligation to try and make conversation with the driver. She could fall asleep, and Takeru would lean back and nudge her knee when they were near her apartment building, and she and Yamato never exchanged a word.

"I wonder if we didn't cross the line. Maybe we pushed him too far," she had confessed with a guilty look through the rear window as Yamato drove away from the hospital. Takeru was with them, leaning his head against the passenger door and not paying attention to the conversation at all. Sora had a small suspicion where his mind was, but she didn't try pull him back to reality. Reality kind of sucked lately, didn't it? She sure thought so.

"No. Taichi's human, you know. He's just a guy, despite whatever the hell his ego tells him when he's alone," Yamato added with a snort. It was a teasing remark, but there was still a little sting to his words. But the sting, Sora knew, was directed at her, not their friend.

"I know that," she said defensively, almost guiltily.

Yamato sighed, irritated. It was what he did when he found himself picking an argument that he didn't feel like having, or starting a conversation that he didn't feel deserved to be finished. Takeru lifted his head from the window and frowned at his older brother.

"I'm not gonna lie, I thought it was a little unnerving to see Taichi cry too," Takeru admitted in a low voice, looking properly embarrassed. Whether it was an act to keep his brother from losing his temper or he was sincerely ashamed to think it was weird that Taichi would ever cry was beyond Sora; she might know Takeru, but she didn't know him as well as she knew Yamato and Taichi. If his goal was the aforementioned, however, Sora had a feeling that Takeru had failed. She could see Yamato narrow his eyes in the rear view mirror, and could just imagine his fingers gripping the steering wheel a little more tightly as he fought to keep his temper in check.

"He's _human_, Takeru. He's gotta take the time to mourn. He can't keep running forever," he said in a low voice, and Sora knew that it wouldn't be so low if it wasn't Takeru. But the words were for her too, and she listened. She always listened when Yamato spoke; that was the problem. She spent too much time listening for words she was never going to hear unless they were in a song. "He'll cry, he'll let it out. And when he's done trying to run away from having a good cry, he'll be able to focus. He'll be able to be there for Hikari. He'll figure out what his next move is going to be."

Takeru glanced over his shoulder and shrugged at Sora, smiling apologetically. She smiled a soft smile back. He had tried to deflect the heat from her, tried to diffuse Yamato. It might not have really worked, but Sora found it sweet that Takeru tried. But her mind was still worried, and her eyes wandered back to the back of Yamato's seat when Takeru returned to looking out the window at the freeway.

Why couldn't she be as confident as Yamato? She knew it was true; when it came to Hikari, Taichi would _always _come through. She knew that he was stronger than he looked when his face was buried in his hands, when he leaned into her as he cried. She knew that, and yet she couldn't shake that image out of her mind. It scared her, but she didn't say it. Yamato sounded so confident, so completely sure of his best friend. But she, the girlfriend, couldn't be? It wasn't right, and Yamato wouldn't miss the opportunity to point that out. She folded her hands tightly in her lap, squeezing her fingers hard. She'd be strong for Taichi. She'd make him dinner and help him around the house, as much as he'd let her. It was about time she was the rock.

The next few days after Hikari's awakening, she had to work. She called Taichi every day though, not expecting him to actually answer his cell. There was very poor reception in the hospital, and besides, he had been sitting by Hikari's bed whenever she was awake. She seemed fine, although little things slipped from Hikari's memory, like her last birthday party and a little bit of math. Jyou, Sora knew, didn't think it was too concerning. She'd had a serious head injury, and it might take some time for her brain to fully recover from that. Taichi, however, was beside himself. But Hikari would squeeze his hand and tell him not to be silly, she was fine, and could he get her a brownie from the cafeteria? She hated the food the nurses brought her. Taichi always obliged without a word of objection. Anything for Hikari; Sora didn't mind being put second for her.

So she was a little surprised when she heard Taichi go "Hey, Sora."

She was a little _more_ than surprised that he didn't sound like he had been crying; for those two weeks, he had sounded like he was walking around half asleep. He was never quite _there_, in the moment. Sora didn't expect three days after Hikari beginning her recovery to be much different. The image of tears brimming his eyes still burned in her dreams and woke her up at night. But he sounded…fine.

That shouldn't have worried her; in fact, it should have made her happy. But it did worry her, and she couldn't explain why.

"Um. I'm sorry, but I don't think I can make it out there again today," she apologized.

"It's fine." It sounded like it; that was the problem. "Hikari's taking a nap right now, and Yamato said he and Takeru are coming over once Takeru gets out of school. Don't worry about it."

She couldn't help it.

"I was thinking about stopping by your apartment during my break to collect the mail and tidy up. Would you like me to," she asked hesitantly as an after thought. She had a key, but no permission. She hadn't thought of asking him, but it was just…strange.

Maybe Yamato had been right. Maybe he just needed a good cry. Maybe he was trying to be a good big brother. Taichi had never been one to fall apart. She hadn't imagined the pause before he spoke, though. She knew him well enough to catch _that_ even if she wasn't struggling to pull a pair of black slacks on one handed, which she was. She was running a little late, and her mother was going to get annoyed if she wasn't ready to take over her shift soon.

"It never crossed my mind," he admitted. "D'you mind, Sor?"

"I offered, didn't I?" If he was keeping his tone light, so was she. She wouldn't be the one to kill his apparent good mood.

"Yeah. Thanks." He sounded like he had something else to say, so she waited. But it never came, instead: "It's almost time for Hikari's nurse to check in on her, so I'm gonna go." He paused. "I love you, Sor."

Whatever he was going to say, he wasn't going to anymore. Sora sighed, curiosity burning at her, nudging her to ask although she knew it'd be useless: He'd just say it was nothing, he hadn't been about to say anything, he was wondering what was for lunch in the cafeteria... Any number of Taichi-made excuses to avoid what he was too proud to admit he'd been afraid to say. He had always been like that, since they first met. Sora saw no reason for that to change now, even if she was his girlfriend.

So she said "I love you too" instead of "Is there anything else?" and hung up the phone with a sigh. She didn't have long to contemplate it, not just then. She had to get to the store, play with flowers, try not to sneeze when she got too close to the daisy bouquets, and think of how to ask her mother how she could get more than a ten minute break so that she could do what she told Taichi she wanted to do, because she really did want to do it. It was her apology for not seeing him lately, for not being able to help with anything that had happened, for making things weird between the three of them – her, Taichi, and Yamato –, for Hikari, for giving up the sport that had birthed their friendship, for believing he was always supposed to be the strong one.

One might suggest she was acting on a guilty conscience. She had a lot of things she felt she had to apologize for.

She hadn't imagined the pause before he spoke, though. She knew him well enough to catch _that_ even if she wasn't struggling to pull a pair of black slacks on one handed, which she was. She was running a little late, and her mother was going to get annoyed if she wasn't ready to take over her shift soon. She ran a brush quickly through her hair; it had been pulled back for tennis practice and now felt strange as it hung around her shoulders. And then she was out the door, punching another number on her speed dial as she sped towards the stairs. The elevator had been out of service earlier when she had gotten home to shower and change before work.

"Moshi moshi." Miyako sounded cheerful, if not distracted by something that Sora couldn't hear. A moment's silence and she caught it: Ken's voice, asking who it was.

"You're busy, aren't you," Sora said, sighing despite herself. She didn't want to ask one of the boys for help. Well, except Jyou, but he was probably working.

"No, Ken has soccer at five," Miyako assured her. "What's up?"

"I was wondering if you're busy around six?" It was meant to be a statement, but it came out as more of a question than anything else.

"I think so. I have tonight off." She sounded quite happy about that, too. Sora didn't blame her; Miyako's family owned a corner store, and she had gotten more and more hours as her siblings went off to University or pursued other careers that left no time for the family store. "Why?"

"I was thinking of stopping by Taichi's… No one's been home in days." Yamato had implied that he had stopped by to grab some clothes for Taichi, who was staying at the hospital until Hikari's release. But she had a feeling as she remembered the state of Yamato's apartment from their days as a couple that stopping by didn't warrant cleaning up. If she took care of it, it'd be one less thing Taichi had to worry about when he got home – for a little while, anyway. Maybe it was small and a silly tribute, but she wanted to do it. It felt like the only thing she _could_ do, and maybe it was a little selfish part of her that wanted to do something useful, however small.

"Work? When I'm _off_ of work?" Miyako complained, and Sora bit her lip.

"It's fine if you don't—" Sora began. She'd just do it herself, maybe ask her mother if she could get off early so that she could stop by. Her mom liked Taichi, more or less. He had been her best friend for a long time before being her boyfriend; he was certainly no stranger to her household. She thought that maybe her mom would let her go. Miyako cut her off before she could say anything else.

"I never said I didn't. Six, right? I've only been to Hikari's a couple times, but I think I remember how to get there. If not I'll call Daisuke, the creeper." Despite the attempt at insulting Daisuke, she still sounded very cheerful.

Sora smiled. They were alike in some ways, and not just in the crest that fueled their Digimon's evolutions. Maybe Sora wasn't as smitten with boys as Miyako was (or had been, before Ken was officially in the picture). Maybe she wasn't as good with computers, and Miyako wasn't as good at sports. But when it came to how they handled situations, they were similar. They both let their tempers get the best of them sometimes, but they had good hearts. And they both preferred action over sitting idly by _waiting_ for someone to tell them what to do. Taichi knew that; maybe that was why he had agreed and said it was alright. Hours of sitting in the hospital, holding his hand, _waiting_… it had killed her. It had killed him too, but for a different reason. He wanted to help his sister. Sora would have done _anything_ to not have to sit around staring at the wall or the bed or the machines or Taichi's distant eyes.

"Yeah. If you get there before me, there's a key taped to the top of the door frame. Just don't break anything inside." An unnecessary adage, and she could just imagine Miyako sticking her tongue out, pouting with indignation.

"I won't _break_ anything. I'm not that klumsy. I can handle computer chips and fix machines as small as your mp3 player; that takes skill," she said defensively. Sora laughed. Oh, Miyako.

"Right." She was in the lobby, had another two blocks to run, and running and talking on the phone simply did not work out no matter what people wanted to believe. "I've gotta go, or I won't ever make it. See you later."

"Ja ne!" Miyako replied, and the line disconnected. She still had an hour or so to enjoy her company with Ken. It was still kinda bizarre, imagining them _cuddling_ and such. But Sora supposed that maybe people thought the same of her and Taichi, or had felt that way when she had been with Yamato. It was strange imagining the other Chosen dating, but they were all closer to each other than to the outside world. That was how it felt sometimes, like it was them, and _them_. Who better to date than someone who you _know_ has your back through thick and thin, someone who has had a chance to prove it instead of using empty words of dying chivalry in a world where danger and fear aren't nearly as prevalent. Statistic wise, not many people got mugged or shot or attacked, stalked and targeted and maimed. It wasn't something people easily imagined. Not many people understood what "protecting" meant anymore. Not in the same way the Chosen did.

Sora slipped her phone into the pocket of her slacks – despite Mimi's attempts to buy her one on her last visit, Sora still resisted the idea of carrying a purse everywhere like her mother – and took off. Oh soccer, how she missed you then! Running always reminded her of training, of hot summer days running through drills again and again, the ball between her feet, knees and elbows grass stained from fall after fall. Tennis was tough too, as much as people didn't think it was. But it wasn't the same kind of work out. Soccer was a constant race against the other team. Who can get there first? Who can reach the ball, the goal, the player _with_ the ball first? Who can kick faster, harder, farther? Who can control the ball best, steal the ball, and win the ball? Tennis was different, a different kind of rush. She had wanted a change, and there were other reasons, but they weren't very important just then.

She felt calmer when she was running. Nothing mattered when she was running. When she was running, all that mattered was making the time and keeping her breath paced and steady. She slowed to a stop just outside the store, adjusting her hair in the mirror, making sure she wasn't sweating profusely. It was a chilly day; she was safe. She was also panting, out of breath. She inhaled deeply and released it slowly. She needed to return to her daily jogs. She had been slacking in the past few weeks since Hikari had been hospitalized. She cringed, but life had to begin to return to normal sometime. She'd gotten back to work. Next she'd pick up her jogging again; maybe half an hour after tennis, or before tennis, or before school. Sometime.

"You're late," her mother chastised quietly when she slipped behind the counter.

"I know, I know. I'm sorry," Sora said quickly. She yanked an apron over her head, although she still couldn't figure out why it was necessary. They dealt with pollinated flowers, not messy food and drinks. But her mother said it was more professional, or something of the like, and who was Sora to argue with a rather successful business woman? The store had been up and running since she was a little girl. Obviously, her mom had _something_ right. "I was on the phone with Taichi." It was true, sort of. But she thought it might soften her mother's annoyance.

It did. "How is Hikari?"

"Awake. Jyou told Taichi she should be able to go home soon," Sora told her, adjusting a stray lock of hair before walking behind the register.

"How is Taichi?"

"...He sounded better," Sora admitted with a small frown.

In the back of her mind, this conversation felt strange. Not so many years ago, although they felt like another lifetime, she would never have thought to tell her mother anything. She would have said "Fine. Fine. _Fine_, Mom." and gone to work without a second glance, because she had hated her mother and this flower shop. Not really. She had been angry and upset, frustrated with her family and not sure where she was expected to fit in or how she could accomplish it. The year after Piyomon, Sora had changed a lot. Her mother had too, and their relationship. But there was still that ten year old in the back of her mind sometimes, a second Sora who stared out of her eyes but couldn't speak, the embodiment of her childhood. That Sora didn't understand anything that was going on, completely thrown out of her element.

This Sora wasn't much better off, to be completely honest.

"Invite them over for dinner when Hikari's released." Sora smiled a faint smile, although it was dry of humor. Like mother, like daughter. Why was it that the first thing that came to mind was "give them food"?

"Actually, Mama..." Sora began, but she broke off. A customer had approached her and her mother, but her mother took to answering. Truth be told, Sora hadn't even heard the lady's question, but in a few minutes she was walking away with an armful of pink carnations smothered in baby's breath.

"Hm?" As though there had been no pause in their conversation, Sora's mother raised her eyebrows questioningly.

"I was wondering if I could have an hour break to go over to Taichi's." She said this very quickly, as though she might confuse her mother into saying yes if she couldn't understand exactly what Sora was asking. No such luck, however. Her mother frowned a small frown. When she did that, Sora could begin to see why Yamato had always said she looked like her mother. Their expressions, they were a lot a like. Personality wise though, Sora always fancied that she took after her dad.

"I thought he was staying at the hospital till Hikari was released?" Her mother paused in the act of untying the black apron around her waist to look at her daughter, accusation of lies in her eyes.

"He is," Sora agreed, and the accusation faded. Confusion flared in its stead. "I was thinking... I don't know, of going over and cleaning up. The place is always a mess," Sora said, wrinkling her nose. She felt the absurd urge to giggle. "And Taichi left in the middle of us making dinner, and he said he hasn't been home to clean up... I doubt Yamato thought of it." Something as mundane as cleaning the stove while his best friend was lost in his own mind wouldn't strike Yamato as important. Those small details, they always sounded insignificant to him. He cared about the emotions, the friends. Important, but not the only details. It was something that he and Sora had never quite seen eye to eye on.

"Don't be bitter. You have a good boyfriend," her mother chastised gently. Sora opened her mouth to argue, but closed it quickly. Maybe she was right. No, no maybe. She _was_ right. How could she expect Yamato to look at her with anything less than frustration and annoyance when she did the same when she thought of him?

She wanted her friend back. But sometimes she wondered if that was possible. She didn't know; Yamato had been her first boyfriend. Could exes remain friends, really and truly?

Her mother was quiet for a long time, so long that Sora thought that "No" had come in loud and clear, and her mother was wondering how her daughter was stupid enough to think that she could ask for such a long time away from the shop during her time slot.

"It's fine, I'll call Miyako and tell her we can do it tomorrow," Sora began quickly, cheeks hot both with annoyance and embarrassment. Her mother was a strict coach and a strict boss, however loving of a mother she was as well. She accepted nothing less than one hundred percent, and skiving off to do something she wasn't under obligation to do in the middle of _another_ pre-standing obligation was _not_ giving one hundred percent.

"No you won't. You told Taichi you'd take care of it, didn't you?"

Sora blinked. "Well, yeah, but..."

"Then you'll do it. Go, now. You can work Saturday after practice instead," her mother said, retying her apron behind her back.

"Oh, Mama. Thank you, thank you!" Sora threw her arms around her mother, who laughed and returned the hug and kissed her on the hair.

"Take that off and put a proper jacket on. It's getting cool out," her mother said, the first to break the hug. Sora nodded, pulling the apron over her head and heading to the store's closet, where she kept a coat on one of the pegs. She placed the apron on the peg instead, slipping her arms through the sleeves of her white pea coat as she headed to the door.

"Thanks Mom," she called over her shoulder again. The moment the door had shut behind her with the tinkle of the overhead bell, Sora took off running again. Oh, how it felt good to run.

* * *

Sora stopped by the apartment to get Piyomon first, who was very put out that Sora had left her sleeping on the papasan in the corner of her room. It took five minutes of apologies and promising to order a whole pizza just for Piyo to get her out of the apartment. Sora rode her bike the rest of the way; running was fun, but a very large bird flying beside her on the congested Tokyo sidewalks did not sound like it was something that would end well. So Piyo had ridden in the basket, and Sora had had to remind her several times not to try stretch her wings until the bike had come to a stop.

* * *

By the time Sora heard Miyako at the door (She had let herself in with the spare key Sora had told her about without bothering to knock), the pizza had been delivered and sat half-devoured on the partition between the kitchen and living room. The remnants of the uneaten stew (Sora _knew_ Yamato wouldn't have thought of it) had been flushed down the toilet and the pot scrubbed clean. She had gone through the fridge and emptied it of sour milk, cheese, and other perishables. Piymon sat on the couch, keeping Sora company. She had helped sweep earlier, too, although her wings had made such an act awkward. Sora let her at it though, because Piyo wanted to help just like everyone else.

"I thought you said at six," Miyako asked accusingly, hands on her hips as she looked around. The apartment was considerably cleaner; only a few small chores remained. After all, Sora had been there for approximately an hour all by herself with Piyo.

"My mother let me off work tonight when I told her why I wanted an hour for break," Sora explained with an apologetic shrug. "Pizza?"

"Yes, please!" That voice wasn't Miyako's, but Poromon's. It was only then that Sora noticed the small shoulder bag that Miyako had hanging at her side. It looked suspiciously like something Mimi would buy, but that just made Sora shake her head and smile. She and Mimi's tastes had always been drastically different; even as Sora became more open to the idea of wearing skirts, she went for more sporty chic or sophisticated than Mimi's partying attire. Miyako, however, absolutely idolized their New York dwelling friend.

"Haha. Well, I got a large. There's plenty," Sora allowed, holding open the lid to the cardboard pizza box. Poromon attacked it with gusto, and Miyako extracted a few slices before there was no more to be had.

"And here I opted out of watching Ken get all hot over a soccer ball for this," Miyako said with a dramatic sigh that made Sora roll her eyes.

"There's still dusting and vacuuming to be done. And the bathroom," Sora added with a quirked eyebrow. Miyako made a face.

"I think I'll take the loud, ravenous machine to the bathroom. Have fun though," Miyako said brightly. Sora chuckled.

"It's in the hall closet. Hang on, I'll get it. Make sure the pizza doesn't fall on the floor, will you? I mopped those tiles sparkling," Sora said with mock sternness, flinging a finger towards the kitchen tiles; they were still a little damp, their watery coating glistening in the yellow glow of the overhead lights she had turned on as the sun began to set. Sora returned with the vacuum in moments, and when it first roared to life, both Digimon nearly fell off the partition with fright. Piyomon recovered quickly, more used to Sora cleaning her room once every two weeks. Poromon, however, looked rather frightened with his eyes wide. Miyako patted him on the head.

"Don't worry, it can't hurt cha all the way up there," she said to assure them. A game of Keep Off The Floor ensued, reminding Sora of The Floor Is Lava in elementary school. She found herself giggling, nearly dropping the handle of the vacuum cleaner as she did so. And then Miyako was giggling too, until they were gasping for breath. This was what hanging out with the Chosen was like, had been like before breaking up with Yamato had made it awkward.

"Takeru said that you haven't been at the hospital a lot this week," Miyako said conversationally. Well, she was yelling, but it was due to the sound of the vacuum cleaner. Sora was dusting the shelves, wiping down dirty surfaces and making the room shine from the waist up. Miyako was tackling the door knobs, down.

"You've been in touch with him?" A silly question, Sora thought later. The younger Chosen were much more tightly connected with each other than their older counter parts, for they had school together as well.

"Well yeah. I call to see how Hikari's doing; she talked for a few minutes yesterday, but she was really tired. I haven't had a chance to visit yet," she sighed. "D'you think your mom would let us go tonight?"

"By the time we get there, visiting hours will be over," Sora said with a small frown. Taichi might be exempt from such rules, but she and Yamato and Takeru had spent most of their evenings outside, unless Taichi thought to ask for cots for them as well. Rarely was the hospital staff so accommodating, though.

"Oh. Right," Miyako said glumly. She ran pulled off her glasses and wiped them on her shirt, an old habit that Sora knew meant she was thinking seriously. "He said he was kinda worried."

"I'm sure Hikari will be okay," Sora said consolingly. Miyako raised her eyes; she was pretty without her glasses, although the effect was strange. She looked older without them. More tired too; without the glasses, Sora could see the dark circles that underlined her eyes. They all probably had similar markings. They were all worried, sleeping less, staring at the phone and keeping their cell phones turned on loud on the off chance that Taichi called them.

"He wasn't talking about Hikari."

Sora blinked, confused. "Who was he talking about, then?"

"Matt. And you," Miyako added, looking uneasy. Sora had a feeling that Takeru had asked her not to spread the details of their conversation, but that Miyako felt like she ought to anyway. It was a pretty suckish place to be in; anyone knew of it and hated it by the time they reached high school.

"Why?"

"Well... Takeru told us you were around the two weeks Hikari-chan was, you know. And then you stopped. He said you and Yamato tended to be kinda..."

"Snappish," Sora supplied. Miyako smiled weakly.

"Silent. Like you were pretending the other one wasn't there. Koushiro said the same thing, like if Taichi wasn't there to focus on you two would go at it."

"Obviously in a bad way," Sora said dryly.

"Well you guys were cool friends and all right?"

"We were..." Sora admitted slowly.

"I dunno, Takeru was just saying that he thought Yamato looked kind of out of it, and you too. He was worried you two were... I don't know, never going to be friends again. It'd be kinda sad, you know? I think I'd like to be friends with Ken if... But you know. That's me," she fumbled, uneasy with the conversation's progression.

Sora only smiled at her and went back to dusting. She wasn't sure what else to say, so they returned to what they had been doing before the conversation got...well, awkward, to put it mildly from Sora's perspective. They joked as they cleaned; it was easy, like having a girls' night. There were no bad things, no traumatic experiences that kept plaguing their small circle of friends. Seriously though, why _was_ it always them? This fight or that fight, break ups and crushes and heart breaks and fall outs. If it wasn't with family, it was with friends, and if it wasn't with friends... well... they all kicked ass together. But wasn't it possible that there were some fights that couldn't be fought? The thought bothered her, so she ignored it, stuffing it into the lock box that she only tackled when she had time and time alone.

"Did you have all day off," Sora asked curiously when the vacuum died down, fishing for another topic of conversation. She just wanted to hear a voice, to have someone else do the talking after an hour of nearly complete silence except for the occasional word or two between her and Piyomon.

"No, I worked the morning while Mantarou-niisan had classes. It was really funny." Miyako snickered to a joke that, until a few minutes later, only was known to her. "There was this little girl, around noon or something like that. Right before the end of my shift. And her mom was on the phone." Miyako put on a false high pitched voice. "'Honestly, Asuke, you wouldn't believe her lately. Three calls from her teacher just this week!'" Miyako shook her head with a broad grin. "She was so distracted on the phone that she didn't see her daughter hand me a candy bar. Put her finger to her lips, and I rang it up. Mom didn't even notice." She sounded way too proud of herself, Sora thought. She said so, too.

"You're corrupting Japan's youth," she said, attempting to keep her voice stiff and disapproving. Within seconds, they were both laughing again. Sora stepped away from a glass picture frame so that she wouldn't break it; her hand kept shaking with mirth.

As their laughter died away, Miyako sighed and wiped her eyes on the back of her hand. Having experienced the memory first hand, her laughter was more true than Sora's. She had pictures, a concrete memory. But stories were nice too, Sora thought. Stories let you experience what you couldn't first hand. It was impossible to experience everything in one life. Miyako seemed to be thinking along the same thing.

"I think it'll be okay," Miyako said confidently, collapsing onto the sofa with a can of cola snagged from Sora's supplies in the fridge.

"What will," Sora asked curiously, joining her. Poromon bounced into Miyako's lap, and Miyako shared a few sips of her soda with her. Piyomon curled up beside Sora, her feathers tickling the exposed flesh of Sora's arms, for she had abandoned her coat on Taichi's bed a long time ago now.

"Everything. Hikari. Taichi, too. Takeru was worried about him."

"Takeru's worrying about everyone lately, huh," Sora asked dryly. Miyako blinked.

"You're not mad, are you," she asked uncertainly. Sora immediately felt bad. She shouldn't begrudge Takeru for _caring_. After all, how long had she been dating his brother? And he had told her before, a long time ago, that he saw her as a big sister even before Yamato had showed any romantic interest in her. He was her friend too. Of course he cared, was worried. And so was Miyako.

All of them, really. Geez, they were all in a pretty fucked up situation. Sora almost laughed, but that was probably a bit inappropriate. Hikari and Taichi were a plane of their own, but the regular drama was still unfolding beneath that plane. It was kind of dizzying. How many layers of complications could there be?

"No," Sora said, and she found that she was completely honest. "I'm not mad."

"Good. Because I think we did a pretty bangin' job cleaning up tonight, and it would be _seriously _counterproductive to tear it apart."

"What do I look like, a rampaging beast?"

"We've seen some pretty angry Digimon. I dunno, you've been exposed to more than me." Miyako joked. "Maybe it's contagious."

"Destructive behavior is contagious?"

"And people can catch bird flu. You never know what's next," Miyako warned seriously.

And then they laughed. Laughing felt like running: therapeutic and an escape, one she would trade all the treasures in the world to hide in forever.


	14. Chapter Thirteen

**Author's Note: **I've always really liked the idea of writing Yamato. I don't think I do him much justice, but hey, I try. I also noticed something while rereading earlier chapters for inspiration: I never stated how Sora and Yamato got the gate open to release Agumon, Piymon, etc, did I? Well, hopefully I'll rectify that with a close up to Yamato's bass playing, emotionally driven brain. I am not, however, entirely sure where the ending came from. Yamato didn't feel like talking anymore, so he sang me a song, I guess. XD

By the way, I was checking my story stats because I was bored and found that Coming Undone is in a community. It's really silly, but that made me really happy! I'm glad people like this story enough to recommend/add it to something like that, where _more_ people can see it and have a chance to like it too, or at least read it. So thanks for that!

* * *

It was a lot easier to breathe without Sora there.

He still hated hospitals, mind you. Still hated that he could smell medicine and disinfectant, hated more that you could still smell sickness beneath the perfumes and cleaning supplies that were applied so diligently. But it was easier to endure that smell, the bright lights, the constantly pitying looks of nurses who think you're there because _your_ little sister is lying inanimately on the painfully white bed sheets instead of your best friend's, the cafeteria food and Hikari's wince every time she coughed too hard or laughed too loudly while her head and ribs were still stiffly wrapped in bandages when Sora wasn't there.

They had said they'd still be friends, but they had lied. Even Yamato knew that. They had smiled and played nice (Or rather, Sora had smiled. Yamato tended to stare at the wall.) for the sake of their friends, who looked anxiously at each other whenever both were present at any given group function. Yamato didn't care that they still had all the same friends, the same favorite spots to hang out, or anything. He was never going to say "No, she's not welcome here", because he _did_ want to be friends. It just kind of hurt his heart to look at her for too long.

Taichi knew it, too. He had tried to ignore it, and Yamato had too, because Yamato wanted to be a good best friend and not deny Taichi what he had wanted so badly since they were ten years old. But sometimes it seemed as though the so-called leader of the Japanese Chosen couldn't hold back a remark anymore.

"Get the stick out of your ass. She's not coming today, either," Taichi called from the other side of the lounge, looking up from a... book. That was weird. But then Yamato saw that it was about soccer, and it lost its strangeness. Probably reading up on plays, trying to think of things to bring back to the team to make up for his long absence. Good. He had been talking about maybe quitting the team to look for another part time job before Agumon had arrived on the scene. Once again, Agumon managed to remind Taichi of his love for soccer, and talked him into keeping the sport near to his heart. Yamato thought it'd be a necessary release, like him with music. It'd keep him from going insane – that is, to keep him from going more insane than he already was.

"Huh?" Yamato blinked, looking up from... well, he wasn't sure _what_ he'd been looking at. A picture on the wall, he supposed. Had butterflies. He blinked again. He obviously hadn't been looking at that, or he would have chosen another picture to space off in front of.

"Sora. She's gotta work again. She said she and Miyako cleaned up the apartment the other day. I guess she promised her mom to work today instead." He frowned a little, apparently not really happy that she had to work so much because he had agreed to let her clean. _Clean_. Yamato almost smiled, because in any other circumstances Taichi would have launched into a miniature rant about why the heck the girl actually _wanted_ to clean. As it was, he looked almost... touched.

_We did the right thing. _Sora had technically done the breaking up, the walking away, but Yamato had been the one to ask for the truth. When her eyes kept glazing over, when she kept glancing at her phone, the way her face lit up when she saw Taichi's name on the caller ID, the way she talked about them hanging out... You'd think Yamato would have taken it out on Taichi, but Taichi was only doing what a best friend should do. But Yamato had asked her if she loved him. Her expression faltered. She said she loved Yamato, but he could hear it in her voice. She might love him, but not romantically. Not the way she had a year ago.

It was only when he was with Taichi that he actually was happy it had ended. He needed it. Her.

"Oh." It was easier to breathe without glancing at the door wondering when she'd walk in, a small smile in Taichi's direction while he still hadn't spotted her arrival. But he still didn't uncross his arms. "Bummer."

_Taichi snorted, but didn't say anything else about it. _ Taichi didn't have much energy for holding back retorts and comments on a _good_ day, never mind a day after nearly three weeks of barely sleeping. Yamato wasn't sure what bothered him more: the dark circles under Taichi's eyes, or the fact that he seemed to have gone from nearly catatonic to... well, not quite normal, but more active in little more than three days.

Yamato attributed that to Agumon, who shadowed Taichi's movements oblivious to the alarm the dinosaur-like orange Digimon caused the nurses. Of course, they knew who they were. Everyone was beginning to recognize the Chosen, learning their story that so many had seen for themselves across the world. Yamato's mom was to thank for that, and his dad. Sora's mom, too, made it her mission to spread their story, to inform people of the true, friendly nature that was the "monster" Digimon. It was because of the widespread of this knowledge that Sora had timidly suggested they go to the Digital world and bring back their friends.

"Just for a little while," she had argued, fists clenched in her pockets where she thought Yamato couldn't see them. He wasn't fooled, however. After all, they had dated for _how_ long? The timidness in her voice wasn't because she thought that, deep down, it was a bad idea. She wasn't even so much afraid of his rejecting it, turning it away. She was afraid that she couldn't talk to him, that he wouldn't want her to. She didn't like being around him any more than he did her, these days. But he wasn't sure it was for the same reason.

She was uncomfortable because she thought he hated her.

He was uncomfortable because he _didn't_ hate her.

Sometimes he felt like he did. Like those nights when she needed to be home, or when Taichi stubbornly insisted that they go home and get some sleep (ignoring the fact that he himself hadn't slept half as much as they had), and he drove her. Sometimes being in the car with her, together but not _together_, made him so angry and his fists gripped the wheel and he hit the gas and brake pedals harder than he needed to until he heard a gasp, and remembered that his brother was often in the car as well. He couldn't hurt them. He couldn't let something happen to anymore people he cared about, so he eased up. But he couldn't help but snap at her sometimes, because sometimes Sora could be so _dense. _If not about him, then about Taichi.

Why was she always most dense about the people she claimed to care the most _about_? He didn't get it. He didn't get her, sometimes. Other times he did, but nine out of ten wasn't good enough. To work, to last, you needed to be on the same page all the time. Even if you didn't agree, you had to be able to figure out what they were thinking. You needed to understand it. Sometimes, Yamato just couldn't understand. And that was why they failed.

"Actually, yeah," Yamato said, and Sora blinked and looked up at him. She had been averting his eyes the entire time she spoke, as though the bloody _wall_ was going to help her open a gate to the Digital World.

"What?"

"I think it's a good idea," he said, raising an eyebrow at her. When he actually spoke, he tried... I don't know, to sound "normal". What the heck was normal supposed to _be,_ anyway? Normal worked best when they both had a similar idea in mind: cheering up Taichi, making sure he ate or slept. Alone, just talking... about nothing? That wasn't working so well.

But this time, they both had a goal, an idea. It just happened to be the same one: find Agumon.

They had needed to recruit Takeru, as the only one besides Hikari at the hospital to be able to open a gate. And then they had needed to find Jyou, who was just getting off work for the evening (after pulling a few double shifts to try keep an eye on Hikari for Taichi), because Jyou would be able to gain them temporary access to a computer to _open_ the gate. It had been hard tearing Takeru away from Hikari, even if for a few minutes, but once he realized what they wanted – and that he could see Patamon and bring Tailmon back to Hikari – he was on game. Hikari, though, asked that he not tell Tailmon.

"Not yet," she had asked hoarsely, for her throat was still bothering her and sore from weeks of disuse.

"She'll want to know, Hikari," Sora had said gently, laying a hand on Hikari's knee. Yamato just frowned at her, trying to understand... and a little to his surprise, he found he did. Or he could, if he tried not to think entirely like him. Quiet Hikari didn't like to be in the spotlight; she just found herself thrown into it from time to time by her friends or... those who _weren't_ her friends. She didn't like people fretting or worrying, and Tailmon would lose two lives just looking at Hikari, working herself into a frenzy trying to figure out how she can fix it. Hikari would rather her best friend, her partner, worry about the _emotional_ trouble than both physical and emotional wounds. Pick the lesser of two evils, the one that Hikari found easier to shift and disguise than bandages and bruises.

"She will," Hikari insisted, eyes bright despite the fact that she still looked dazed after having just woken up. "When the bandages are gone, and I can hug her properly," Hikari promised, and she lifted a weak hand to her ribs. It was shaking. Takeru reached for her hand and squeezed it gently, placing it back at her side. He looked hurt just watching her.

"Alright. I'll be back in a few minutes, I promise," he told her, letting her hand go. "We can talk about whatever you want then."

Hikari had nodded, or rather... Yamato thought she tried nod, but her head didn't move much. He wasn't surprised. He remembered getting a bad concussion when he was little, fell out of a tree and his head cracked against the ground after he landed on his back. Those bandages were freaking _heavy_, and she couldn't be feeling too hot either.

The rest was history, as the saying goes. Got the Digimon, caught them up... Piyomon, Gabumon, Patamon, and Agumon came back with them. Tailmon had seemed put out, but Sora gently convinced her that they would come back for her when "Hikari was awake, and ready for company". It was a nice way of saying "She doesn't want to see you right now because you'll worry up a hairball." Pretty accurate. It was a good thing Sora was the one who did the talking, because Yamato probably would have said just that.

"Yamato? You're home." Hiroaki, his father, sounded so surprised. Yamato almost got offended before he realized – oh yeah – he'd been at the hospital most days since the accident. He figured that Taichi would do the same to him if something happened to his dad or mom or Takeru. It was a best-friend thing, you know?

Or just a friend thing. Yamato might do the same for Daisuke, now that he thought about it, even though the guy drove him insane sometimes. Other times, he had a good heart. It was just hidden beneath the hair and bull shit and squashed by the goggles that were cutting off his circulation.

"I've got band practice tonight. I've been blowing the guys off a lot lately." Ever since the accident, he'd been calling off practices. But he couldn't do that for much longer without canceling their next show, and even if he wasn't in a deep rut, some of his band mates were dependent on their steady stream of shows. They lived or died by whether or not they performed Friday night at a local club or restaurant. He couldn't hold out on them like that.

"What about Taichi?" His father was buttoning up his signature white dress shirt. He was headed to work, even though it was four o'clock – the time most people would be leaving work or getting home, Yamato thought to himself. "I thought when you left earlier, you were going to see him."

"I called," Yamato admitted. "But he said not to worry about it. Hikari had tests all day. I guess the nurses kicked Taichi out for a couple hours to go home and shower and eat a real meal."

"Good. That he's functioning." Yamato had told his dad last week how Taichi had been faring... or rather, not faring well at all.

"He's got Agumon with him. Gives him someone to worry about, and someone who will worry about him and keep him out of _too_ much trouble. I'm sure he's already back at the hospital," Yamato shrugged.

"They let Agumon in the hospital," his father asked with a raised eyebrow. People might know more about Digimon, but that didn't mean many people weren't still disconcerted by their presence, or convinced that they were simply intelligent pets.

"Well. A doctor committed mutiny if they don't," Yamato shrugged, grinning despite himself. His father laughed.

"I've got to run," he told Yamato, "but there's some food in the fridge."

Food, by the way, translated into frozen dinners. Yamato cringed. He'd rather order out, personally. But he smiled anyway, because he knew his dad was just happy there was something edible in the house without Yamato trying to cook, because apparently _only_ Yamato could stomach his homemade creations.

"Thanks Dad, but I'm probably going out with the band," he lied smoothly. His father paused in the middle of pulling on his work coat, not sure if he ought to believe Yamato or not. But not believing him would take more time, time that Yamato knew he didn't have.

"Alright, well. I'll be late, so good night."

"Night."

Without a backward glance, Yamato slipped his hands into his pockets and headed towards his room. The door was ajar, just how he left it. He didn't really think much of privacy first thing in the morning, when the only energy he had was reserved for thoughts and plans of getting coffee and food. Real food. Like, eggs and bacon.

Two instruments stood in the corner of his small room, which he suspected was once a walk in closet for a studio apartment and later advertised as a bedroom so that the owner of the building could charge more. But the instruments, those were what made this room special to him. He didn't really care about the bed or the small television in the corner (that hadn't really worked properly since the last time Taichi was over, he thought with an affectionate roll of the eyes). I mean, the laptop on his desk was important, not only because it saved his butt when it came to cramming in homework the night before it was due, but because... well, computers had come to mean something to him. Life, friends, change, self,... there was more than Mystery Google behind the screen. He couldn't explain it, but he doubted any Chosen felt any differently. They just didn't have the words for it either.

But the instruments were his music, his life, what reconnected him with his dad and found him his band. His dad taught him how to play the bass the summer after Yamato had first gone to the digital world, when Yamato found his dad's old band recordings amongst the rest of the junk in the apartment. But the band, you know, it was pretty good. His dad had never told him he could play an instrument, and after much pleading and accusations of holding out on his oldest son, Hiroaki had promised to teach him how to play. Bought him a bass for his Christmas present, and Yamato had put down his old harmonica to learn the bass.

His fingers caressed the bass case, treasuring the familiarity of its touch, before reaching for the other instrument. The guitar was newer, and a project that Yamato was tackling on his own. He had bought it with a fraction of his savings after he and Sora had ended. Call it a little pampering, or spoiling, or treating himself. He just wanted music to calm down the storm of feelings as it always had, and besides, the bass was becoming too easy. He still played it with the band, and still practiced vocals, but he practiced the guitar sometimes.

This was one of those times.

He carefully lifted it out of its case and sat on his bed, guitar balanced on his lap. He wasn't nearly as fluent with the fingerings as he was with the bass, if only for the simple fact that it was a little bulkier and had more strings than he was used to. But it was relaxing and fun, even if sometimes he hit a sour note. He kept playing, because keeping going when they messed up and something went wrong was the only thing anyone could do. He couldn't spend forever trying to pick that right note. Maybe later, after he ran through the exercise notes. He'd revisit what he messed up on, play it till he got it right, and learn from his mistakes.

"_The world cried last night_

_It's been crying, crying_

_For a while now._

_I tried to comfort it._

_I tried to talk to it._

_But it only turned its back_

_And looked away._

_I joined it on the curb_

_Holding a sign looking for work_

_Because no one wanted_

_To spare a passing glance._

_I took its hand and we_

_Cried, cried together._

_Because the only thing it wanted_

_All the world ever wanted_

_Was to feel like it wasn't_

_All alone."_


	15. Chapter Fourteen

**Author's note: **I think I wrote something like this once, on an old, old, _old_ fic that I deleted out of sheer frustration with one person who kept reviewing (hateful, hateful reviews) but wouldn't lay off. And when I deleted the story, they still went at it till FF banned them. But yeah, anyways, back on track. I'm sorry for the lack of updates (not that that's _terribly_ new from me, is it?), but between the holiday and some... other issues, my FF has been unfortunately on hold. It will continue to be so in approximately another month when I go to live with a friend while my mother recovers from surgery. Sorry, sorry! I was told to get out, so. Lol.

* * *

Taichi wasn't really happy with him, but Jyou didn't know what else to say. No, he didn't know if Hikari was 100%. Physically, you know, more or less. There were a few bruises around her ribs, but they were healed fine. Her head was better, and she had stopped complaining about headaches (not that Hikari complained; she mostly winced when they started talking above a whisper when they occurred). Her cuts and scrapes were healed. She had a stable body temperature. She was sleeping fairly regularly, although Jyou hesitated to tell Taichi that a few nurses had reported that Hikari had woken up with nightmares on more than one occasion while Taichi was out of the room. But they had happened with Taichi present too, and really... Who wouldn't be having nightmares? Hell, Jyou was having nightmares. He called his parents every night for the past month, making sure that they were really okay. Dreams could be deceptively real.

It had taken a bit of talking, but Jyou had finally gotten Taichi to take Hikari home. Hikari had actually done it, getting shakily out of bed (for the nurses hadn't let her walk very much, except to use the bathroom) and reaching timidly for his hand. "I miss my bed," she had said with a small, guilty smile as though it were something to be ashamed of.

And Taichi's expression had softened, and for a moment Jyou thought he was going to cry, but then Taichi smiled softly and went, "Alright. When Yamato gets back from the cafeteria, we'll ask him to take us... home, okay?"

Hikari had smiled back at him, and Jyou wondered if he was the only one who caught the hesitation in Taichi's voice. He sounded almost afraid, a tone uncommon but not unheard of in their oh-so fearless leader. Especially when it came to Hikari. He didn't want to go home. He didn't want to see reminders, to think. He was doing a good job the past couple weeks; Hikari had complained about his wasting his time until he had consented to return to soccer practice, if not school. He went twice a week, and he always brought Hikari back interesting stories about his teammates and his plays. But Jyou was fairly certain that if Taichi had new clothes, it was because he had asked Koushirou or Sora to get them while he was at soccer, apologizing and saying he'd be covered in sweat and finding a way to ask without asking. Taichi could be surprisingly manipulative, when he was trying to look brave while hiding from his fears.

The day after Jyou released Hikari, he was given the next two days off work. Not because they didn't need the help, his supervisor had felt the need to point out, but because they didn't need a doctor on call who had worked double shifts for the past two weeks, who had circles under his eyes that made him look haunted even when he smiled. He hadn't slept much, wanting to keep his word to watch over Hikari for Taichi. That was what friends were for, after all... even if some small part of Jyou knew that he probably shouldn't have been the doctor to treat her. But Hikari was alright, probably curled up in her bed at home. Taichi probably gave her the bottom bunk so that she wouldn't have to climb the ladder. Did they still share a room, at that? Things seemed to stay stagnant and change dramatically all at once.

Jyou didn't go to sleep right when he got home, although the idea had certainly crossed his mind. But there was something else he wanted to do first, something he hadn't gotten to do in nearly a month. Well, he sent texts and e-mails, but it was expensive to text out of the country very often. They were usually updates, because Mimi would bite their heads off if she was left too out of the loop. She was already upset that she couldn't visit; she was right in the middle of finals at school and couldn't afford to be away from campus to visit a friend in Japan. She had sent Hikari her regards six times a day on average, however, and threatened Koushirou to buy flowers for her bedside in Mimi's name, which Jyou had found priceless. Really! Imagine Koushirou carrying an overflowing bouquet of pink roses. The mental image still made Jyou chuckle as he collapsed on his bed and pulled his phone out of his pants pocket. He sat back against the pillows as he punched in the now-familiar number.

A yawn answered. "Ah, Jyou? It's _late_, silly. Is Hikari okay?" Her tone switched from sleepy, to teasingly annoyed, to worried in the time that it took Jyou to process that Mimi had answered the phone.

"Gomen, it's about midnight there, isn't it," he asked apologetically.

"One," she corrected; in the morning, she meant. But she didn't add that, for which he was a little grateful. It was a silly thing, but he felt kinda bad as it was without the extra word grinding into his conscious.

"Gomen," he said again. "If it's any consolation, I'm tired too."

"As you should be," she sounded hard, but he knew the worry in her voice. He had told her about the double shifts, and he was sure some of the others had probably put a word in edgewise as well. "At least it's the weekend."

"So I'm not cutting into your studies?"

"Oh you are," she replied, oddly cheerful. She giggled. "But I don't mind. I missed hearing from you, Jyou."

"Yeah... I'm sorry, I only got to message if it was about Hikari. I was--"

"Busy busy, I know." Was it a bit bizarre that he could picture her sticking her tongue out at him, hair light brown as it had been when he first met her and the last time he had seen her. He missed seeing her, and before he had censored the words from brain to mouth, he could hear his voice saying them out loud. Exhaustion had removed his censoring ability, obviously. He was horrified, but Mimi only giggled again. "I miss seeing you too. Everyone, really. But you most."

Nearly ten years ought to have dulled the butterflies when Mimi made a comment so seemingly careless as that, but the butterflies were still alive and set on making Jyou toss his sandwich. He kept hold of his lunch though; it was a pleasant sort of nausea, really. He could live with this. He wasn't sure how _this_ even happened, only that it had, and he couldn't wait for Mimi to be able to return to Japan. Long distance – particularly with fourteen hours time difference – was stressful, especially when he pulled shifts as he had over the past month.

"Have you talked to Sora," he asked curiously. Sora had been absent more than Jyou had expected her to be, although Taichi said she was at work and had tennis practice and as Hikari's condition improved, Sora's mother became less lax about her skipping out on her duties to visit and keep him company. He secretly suspected that part of it was Sora being glad for the excuse to not hang out with Yamato anymore, but as the word "secret" might suggest, Jyou hadn't mentioned that to anyone. Not until tonight, anyway.

"A little, and she mentioned Yamato. Not like that," Mimi said before Jyou could even guess what 'that' might be. "Just that, you know, he was there. And she thinks he's mad at her."

"I wonder," Jyou began before biting down on his tongue. Seriously, was he that tired that he couldn't even control the _voluntary_ functions of his body?

"I don't. I'd be mad at her too, and I'd be mad at him. They're both being dumb. If I were there, I'd beat them with a marshmallow gun," Mimi announced brazenly. Jyou couldn't help it – he burst out laughing, one hand clutching the receiver while the other held his stomach.

"A what," he asked when he got enough breath back to speak.

"A marshmallow gun," Mimi repeated, unabashed. She yawned a small yawn, but she couldn't hide it. She squeaked when she yawned, like a kitten curling up to sleep. "Micheal bought one for his little cousin, and then we went back and bought some too. They're really funny. Stale marshmallows work best because fresh ones muck up the barrel and – I'm serious," she added crossly, for Jyou had started laughing again.

"I know you are," he said, chuckling. He couldn't help but to be jealous though. He wished that he could have had that fun with her instead of Micheal, although he had no fear of the blond-haired American boy. Mimi had told him all about what a bitch she found his new girlfriend to be, although she added with disgust that Micheal stared at her like she was the goddess Athena from Greek mythology.

"Oh, she might be pretty," Mimi had said during that particular discussion. "But she's a nasty witch, if you ask me. Manipulative, grouchy little --"

Obviously, Jyou made no mention of the girlfriend, lest a similar raging rant be inspired in the girl who speaks what she thinks and thinks what she feels and rarely cares to sugar coat the reality with more than a pretty pink coat of lip gloss and her favorite nail polish.

"I guess we're all in need of a good laugh, huh," she asked softly as his laughter died away. That sobered him up rather quickly. In fact, he was remembering how absolutely exhausted he was again. Mentally and emotionally, he couldn't handle the dreams that Taichi and Hikari's story had inspired. He couldn't begin to imagine what they were thinking, feeling... But pity was out of the question. Taichi would never stand for it, even if Hikari was too polite to say anything against it.

"I guess," Jyou agreed soberly. It was his turn to yawn this time, and he wished he could pull Mimi through the phone and make her lay with him, even though it was only five in the afternoon in Tokyo.

"Exams end next Thursday. Daddy said I can go home for a couple weeks if I get positive marks," Mimi promised her. "I'll take Sora shopping and smack some sense into her with a pretty glove. We'll make her and Yamato be friends again, and let Sora and Taichi go have a proper date while me, Hikari, and Miyako have a girls night and you, Takeru, Yamato, and Koushirou and everyone can have a boys night." She sounded so enthusiastic, Jyou didn't voice the fact that there were a _lot_ more boys than girls, and he'd probably have to work again by that time anyway. She sounded too happy, so excited to be able to plan something that Mimi believed would really help. "Everyone needs friends. So we'll make sure that as each other's friends, we'll be there," she said confidently. Jyou was forcibly reminded of when she decided that yes, they had to fight, that things would only get better if they _won_ that fight. It made him smile a small, wistful smile of remembrance.

"So Sora and Taichi get a well-deserved date," Jyou recalled, and he could almost see Mimi nodding. Indeed, there was a brief pause before she confirmed it with a "Yepp" that made him suspect she had done just that before realizing he couldn't see her nod through the phone line. "What about us?"

"We get _two_ well deserved dates. After all, they can see each other all the time," Mimi sniffed, and then they both laughed. Jyou was glad. There was no reason to be jealous of her proximity to Micheal, not when she laughed so cheerfully and so... he didn't have a word for it. But if he was sure of anything, it was that Mimi would never lie. She would never say she liked him if she didn't (and he ought to know, for he had faced many rejections before a "...You know, I think I'd like that" the last time she had come to Japan and he had asked her on that frightful D word). There was safety in that, a security Jyou could cling to when he began to doubt everything else.

"Only two," he asked with mock despair. Well, he was partially teasing.

"Don't be greedy," she teased. And then her tone got more serious. "I'm scared, Jyou."

He knew how she felt. "Me too."

"I hugged my Mom and Daddy when Sora told me," she told him.

Jyou nodded. "Me too. And my brothers. Really screwed their worlds up," Jyou added, and Mimi giggled a reluctant giggle.

"I don't have any siblings, if that had ever happened to me."

"But you have friends," Jyou reminded her, echoing her earlier sentiment. He hoped she was smiling in her brief silence.

"Yeah. That's true. Poor Hikari... Poor Taichi..." she murmured sympathetically, and Jyou didn't say anything because there were no words that needed to be said. She squeak-yawned again. "Jyou, I'm sleepy."

"I know you are," he said gently. "Go to sleep."

"You're about to fall asleep too, or I'd stay up longer with you," she insisted. Jyou smiled to himself, pulling off his glasses and setting them on his bedside table. If he could fall asleep as the conversation died, it would be like she was in Japan already. Two weeks was an awfully long time to wait for someone you hadn't seen in forever.

"Everything will be alright. Have happy dreams, and don't worry," Jyou said, remembering a day when Mimi had looked at him with wide eyes so expectantly for guidance and reassurance that what she was doing was okay. "I'll see you soon."

"Soon, soon," she echoed in a sleepy murmur. Jyou laid his head down on his pillow.

"You better pass your tests," he teased.

"Pass. I'll pass," Mimi mumbled; the sound was muffled by her own pillow. "Daisuki, Jyou."

"Daisuki." And he was asleep before he could hang up the receiver, hoping to dream dreams of laughter and soft brown hair instead of twisting metal and Hikari's pain-filled face.


	16. Chapter Fifteen

**Author's note: **So I started writing this right after I finished chapter nine of Days of our Lives, and I started laughing. I forgot that Takeru's chapter was up next, so it's like a double dose of Takari. Yay! I'm not really sure I did a fair job. I was kind of in a mood when I wrote this, so Takeru sounds... more like Yamato to me, I guess, than Takeru. Oops. Haha, really though, I need to write more than just those two... I guess that'll have to wait till next chapter though, ne? This might be a bit short, but I'll make up for it next chapter.

And I don't know, but someone might be wondering about my mom. She just started chemo, doing alright as of now. Thanks for the encouraging and uplifting messages I received last update! You guys are sweethearts, honestly.

* * *

"Are you sure you're alright?"

"I'm fine, Takeru."

"You don't need tea or anything? You're not hungry?"

Like a clucking hen, Takeru had been fussing around in the kitchen. He wasn't really sure why, or what he was doing. He was just thinking of what his mother did when he had broken his arm in primary school. She had made him sweets and treats and let him watch all his favorite movies and got a big box of his favorite kids books (for that was all he could read back then) to keep by the couch, because she was afraid that he'd roll over his arm and hurt himself in his bed.

It wasn't really much, considering there was a huge difference in the needs of a nine year old boy and a sixteen year old girl, but it was all that he had to go on, for he had offered to keep Hikari company while Taichi went to work. It had taken Yamato threatening to bash him overhead with his bass, for Taichi had been copping out of all his obligations – work, school, soccer practice, everything – to take care of Hikari, and it seemed he was the only one who couldn't see that she looked on the verge of tears because she blamed herself for her brother's reluctance to leave.

And Hikari didn't exactly have a broken arm. She had a bruised and battered rib cage and a few fractures in the same area. You couldn't tell just by looking at her that she had been hospitalized for a few weeks recently. Her bruises (the ones on her head, arms, and legs) had faded away, her scrapes and cuts had healed without scarring, and she had begged Taichi to cut the hospital bracelet the moment she had been helped into Yamato's back seat, for they thought the train was still a bit much for her. Taichi had sat in the passenger seat while Takeru kept her company in the back. She had smiled at him when he asked how she was, but her knuckles were white when he reached over and squeezed her hand reassuringly.

The only evidence of her lingering injuries was the occasional cringe or wince. Turning her torso, laughing or speaking too loudly, or moving too quickly all hurt her. Sometimes she bit down on her tongue and he only noticed because her face grew paler. Other times though, she wasn't quite as adept at masking her pain. For example, at the moment he asked her if she was sure she didn't need anything, Takeru heard her giggle at his fretting. He raised eyes from the sandwich he was preparing (for himself, if she was so insistent that she wasn't hungry yet) just in time to catch her grimace. He frowned, but otherwise pretended he didn't see it. She'd only deny that it hurt.

"Fine, fine. You don't need anything. _Want_ anything," he asked, rephrasing the question. Hikari rolled her eyes.

"It's boring watching a movie by myself, Takeru," she pointed out, trying to sound rather cross. But it sounded funny, coming from Hikari, and Takeru couldn't help but grin.

"_The Illusionist_ wasn't even great the first time, Hikari," he reminded her, though he carried his sandwich over to the couch anyways. Hikari's pillows had been pulled off her bed and piled up at the end of the couch, and she had pulled her blanket around her. Taichi had forced her to sleep on the couch; it was ridiculous, he said, for her to try get to the top bunk. And the room was a mess, and she might trip. Hikari thought he was being paranoid, as usual, but she had indulged her brother's request anyway.

It would have been very typical if Takeru hadn't felt the tension in the apartment when he was there with them both, especially when there weren't more people to carry the conversation around them. There was something that wasn't being said, a conversation just waiting to be had. But neither was willing to approach it, but instead danced around its edges carefully. They were being awfully careful with one another, as though they expected their sibling, their only family left, to break.

I'm not gonna tell you it made Takeru wanna cry when he thought about it too much because he thinks he's too manly for that kind of thing.

"Well, I liked it. And you were the one who put it in," she reminded him, trying to move her legs to make more room for him on the couch. She winced again, and he sighed.

"You're such a masochist," he accused her. "You _enjoy_ causing yourself pain, don't you? There's plenty of room," he insisted, patting the cushion passed her feet. Hikari didn't look convinced.

"But you feel really far away when you sit there."

"I don't know what to tell you," he said honestly. Takeru sighed and placed his lunch on the coffee table, running a hand through his hair as he let his eyes wander down the couch, like he could find a solution to the one thing she had complained about in the past week and a half since she had been allowed to return home.

She looked like a little kid at that moment, like she had when she'd been sick in the Digital World, right after when she woke up and Sora told them that she'd seen no sign of Taichi or the others. It kinda hurt, seeing her like that. It took all his willpower to look at her with a smile on his face.

"Okay." Takeru clapped his hands together once. "Here's what we're gonna do." He thought he had an idea. He was kind of glad she had set up camp on the end of the couch directly in front of the television instead of the wrap around that only had a small corner of the coffee table available to it.

Hikari complied readily enough. Soon, Takeru had pulled the coffee table closer to the couch and used it to prop up her legs. She insisted that wasn't really necessary, but she'd been sleeping a lot. Jyou said it was pretty usual, considering the experience and that her body was still healing its injuries. Takeru figured she'd be more comfortable that way. He saw her face tighten only once, when she sat up quickly to do what he suggested, and he placed a steadying and reassuring hand on her shoulder.

"Alright?" He didn't know why he asked. The answer was always the same.

"Mhm." She smiled, but it looked a little weak. Like a shadow of her smile, the one still bright in Takeru's memories. It made him a little sad, but he didn't challenge her. He was doing his best not to stress her out, but one of these days he thought he'd snap.

_Stop lying to me, _he wanted to shout at her. He wanted to shake her, but he wouldn't. That would make her hurt more. But sometimes, sometimes he wondered why she couldn't just say "No" or "It kind of hurts". Why did it take waking up in a cold sweat for her to be a little honest? And even then, the moment she calmed down, she'd smile and go "I'm okay, really", even though she knew he'd seen the wild look in her eyes.

She never really changed, he thought, did she?

"Tell me about school," she said once the seating had been situated and Takeru had picked up his sandwich and plopped down on the couch beside Hikari. She had smiled, but he noticed she didn't giggle like she usually did. She was in pain, trying not to show it, but Takeru knew her too well.

"It's nothing new. Daisuke's been annoying me about you," he replied around a bite of her sandwich, intentionally vague.

Hikari narrowed her eyes. "Nothing new? What about homework? Am I really behind in English now? Did Amaya confess to Yousuke? I know you're friends with him, 'Keru. He's on the basketball team." She sounded snippier than usual, but Takeru had expected that. And, as he did every time she got on the subject of something she couldn't experience, he had shrugged and taken another bite out of his sandwich. She hadn't gone back to school yet, for obvious reasons. She was annoyed that no one let her do any work, convinced that she was straining herself. The belief was only solidified when she started to struggle with subjects and concepts that she had known before the accident. Jyou had warned them that some memory loss was common after such lengthy comas, but Hikari was only more irritated by the random gaps in her otherwise perfect memory.

"You know I don't like to gossip. I think Amaya'd rather be the one to tell you that story, right?" It wasn't the first time they'd had a similar conversation, but Hikari still glared at him and sank back into the couch.

"I feel like an island. A really tiny island. I'm like, one of the lonely, undiscovered islands cropping up in Hawaii or something," she mumbled, plucking Takeru's sandwich out of his hand, taking a small bite, and handing it back. He almost laughed; that, he knew, was probably her idea of revenge. But the word 'lonely' had caught his attention and made his laugh sound quite hollow.

"Are you really," he asked, quite serious.

"Really what?" Hikari blinked. Having given up gossip as a lost cause, she had returned her attention to the television screen.

"Lonely. You said 'lonely'," Takeru pointed out.

"I was talking about the island." She returned her eyes to the television once again, but Takeru grabbed her wrist. The action was a little rougher than he meant it to be, a desperate attempt to keep her attention and get her to take him seriously. Her eyes were wide with surprise.

"You've never been one to throw words around, Hikari. Talk to me." He was pleading with her, and he didn't let go of her wrist. She didn't try to pull away; there was no fear in her eyes, just unease. She trusted him, knew he would never _hurt_ her. But she didn't want to answer him. Takeru didn't know what to make of that. It made him want to try harder, to get her to talk to him somehow. She'd never refused to talk about something with him. Not when no one else was around.

"Takeru..." she began, but they heard the door, and she smiled a small (and was it sad?) smile and pulled her wrist out of his slackened grip just as the door banged shut again. Takeru scowled, both at Hikari and the idea of the intruder, especially since he could only think of one person who would carelessly slam doors.

"Hi-ka-ri," Daisuke called out as he rounded the corner into the main room of the apartment. He was grinning obnoxiously, soccer ball tucked under his arm. Grass stains and dirt still clung to it. He had been scrimmaging in the park again, Takeru thought. He scowled and inched away from Hikari, not bothering to mask his irritation with his company. Her eyes were watching him; he could feel them. He didn't care.

Why wouldn't she _talk_ to him?!

"Hi Daisuke," she greeted him politely. Daisuke never let Takeru forget that he had been Hikari's best friend – "She even said so," he had insisted when Takeru raised his eyebrows. – before Takeru had moved to Odaiba. Although Hikari had confessed before that since this 'crush business' (as Miyako called it) began, she felt they had grown pretty distant in the friend department. Sure, they had worked together to save the world, but she felt a little uncomfortable around Daisuke sometimes, especially when he was really trying to lay it on thick. As usual though, he was oblivious – even when someone (ie. Takeru) spelled it out for him.

"Taichi-sempai said you were home alone." Daisuke shot Takeru a dirty look at the word 'alone', but Takeru found it easier to ignore him. He got along alright with Daisuke when his jealousy didn't get in the way of what little common sense the guy had. And Takeru had other things to think about.

Seriously. Why did she feel like she couldn't tell him how she felt, about her parents and her brother and herself? Sometimes he wondered if she didn't ask so many questions about school and everything else in hopes of steering the conversation a far way away from the Yagami apartment residence.

"Takeru's been visiting on weekends and after school," Hikari corrected, still smiling in that polite, gentle way that Takeru usually understood to mean 'We're already friends, so you don't have to show off. Just sit down and watch the movie with us.' but Daisuke never seemed to catch on to.

Daisuke didn't answer, but for once he seemed to catch the cue to just sit and shut up. Sort of. He sat down, shut up for a minute or so, and then raised an eyebrow at Takeru.

"What's your problem?"

"Where to begin," Takeru replied dryly. He saw Hikari bite her lip, and he felt that pang of regret you get in your chest sometimes when you know you're kind of being an ass but can't help yourself. He didn't know what to do with her sometimes. He really had no idea.

"What were you two doing, anyway," Daisuke asked, eyebrow raised suspiciously. He was looking from Takeru's less-than-happy face to Hikari worrying her lip. Although Takeru had edged away from her when he guessed who was at the door, they were still sitting rather close. Takeru groaned, and he knew that Hikari heard him when the corners of her mouth twitched. She was trying not to smile; it would only make Daisuke more paranoid.

"Talking," Hikari assured him. It was Takeru's turn to bite his lip. That wasn't how he remembered it.

What was wrong with him? This wasn't like him, not at all. He was acting... possessive, like he had the _right_ to make her say something she didn't want to say. Yeah, he thought she needed to talk. But, he told himself, the truth of the matter was that she didn't _want_ to. And as her friend, he just had to accept that and be willing to listen to her when she decided she wanted him to. He had no right, trying to guilt trip her. It was so... not him, not at all.

He smiled at her. Hopefully, she understood that it was the closest he could get to an apology with Daisuke present. They didn't do the sentimental best friend bit when there was an audience. It made Hikari uncomfortable, having the attention on her. Takeru tried to keep it for after she was in grave danger, like the Dark Ocean gig. And a few other notable times.

"We were having a movie night. Day," Takeru amended with a grin as he glanced first outside, then at Daisuke's face to witness the impact. It was Hikari's turn to groan, covering her face as she shook her head. Takeru had a feeling she was trying to hide a smile behind her hand.

Mission accomplished, he thought. If he had to put up with Daisuke's wild accusations, then he was at least going to have a _little _fun. That was what he told Hikari every time she accused him of goading Daisuke on. One way or another, the guy was gonna find something to say about him and Hikari being friends, or 'friends', because Daisuke was still a fan of using air quotes when he spoke dramatically.

"Like a _date_," Daisuke asked, eyes flashing accusingly in Takeru's direction.

"Well --" Takeru began in jest, but Hikari lightly smacked his arm.

"_No_, Daisuke. I wanted to watch a movie, and Takeru was already over. He's keeping me company while Onii-san is out in case I need anything." Takeru translated that in his head. It really meant 'Incase he decides I need something, because I'm not going to ask for it unless I begin spontaneously bursting into green flame or something else equally improbable'. It made Takeru roll his eyes, but it kind of made him chuckle. That was Hikari for you.

"You don't mind if I join you then," Daisuke asked, and he plopped down at the other end of the couch before either Hikari or Takeru could say a word edgewise. They glanced at each other, Hikari smiling and Takeru raising an exasperated eyebrow.

"We don't mind," Hikari said unnecessarily. Takeru didn't think Daisuke would have left even if she had said she _did_ mind. Takeru had a feeling that, for once, she was entirely sincere. Being alone with him would mean another chance to be confronted with the truth. Hikari had never much liked the bluntness with which Takeru dealt with issues as a last resort. But he wouldn't ask her, not again. He didn't want to become one among the lied-to masses, who saw the smiling face but not the struggle behind the smile.


	17. Chapter Sixteen

**Author's note: ** This was not my best. I _almost_ dont' want to post it. But my writing's not been great lately in general, and I just wanted to force myself to write through it and get you guys one update before the summer's over. I'm extremely sorry for the delay. This story just got... a little too heavy for me with all the things that have been going on. And college starts at the end of next month, so we'll soon find out just how badly college life slams me and my writing time (outside of classwork, because I'm a Professional Writing major). As always, PM me with anything you'd like to see within the story. This will quite possibly become my "I don't know what they want me to do for this class and I'm about to crack" escape line again.

* * *

It was quiet.

The television was on, and Daisuke was talking – rather loudly, at that – but it was still... quiet. Hikari wasn't saying anything, but staring at whatever was on TV in a way that made Daisuke and Takeru both suspect that she wasn't really seeing it. And Takeru was watching her with a calculating intensity that Daisuke didn't like – he was never as good at reading Hikari's expression as Takeru was, and often had to rely on her slip-ups to provide him with the facade of intimate knowledge about her. Not that he'd ever admit it, even to himself, but he knew a different Hikari than Takeru did. His best friend wasn't the same as Takeru's best friend, and it was that which irritated him more than he even understood.

But Daisuke kept talking as a way to pass the time, appearing oblivious to Takeru's disinterest and Hikari's wandering attention span, to the fact that Takeru's expression was dark with irritation. Maybe he wasn't entirely oblivious to the latter, for it always gave him an eyedropper full of satisfaction when it came to Hikari. Childish? Yes. Did that make him feel bad for it? No, not really.

Another knock at the door made Daisuke pause briefly in his running commentary – largely about the soccer game the kids he co-coached at the primary school had won – before rambling on again. His words, however, weren't enough to disguise the irritated sigh that Takeru was too slow to catch before it escaped his lips. But he didn't have to get up to get the door; Miyako opened it mere seconds after knocking, as though the precursor action had been merely a formality. She came to a stop in front of the television screen, causing Hikari to shake herself from her reverie. After all, she was suddenly staring not at whatever they had left the channel on, but a fistful of bags that Miyako was carrying in each hand.

"Gifts! From yours truly – with a little help from Ai Mart," she added with a small grin, raising her arms a little to make sure they saw the bags.

Hikari blinked. Daisuke looked at her, trying to see what Takeru was frowning at. She looked as though she had only just woken up, like she had been sleeping with her eyes open. She seemed to do that a lot, when he was over. If you didn't talk to her directly, she sort of... drifted off, like she wasn't entirely there like she used to be. He didn't want to call attention to it, knowing her well enough to know that she'd deny it or say that her head hurt, some sort of answer that everyone would expect and accept without much question. And he could never really tell when she was lying.

"You really didn't have to, Miyako," Hikari said, raising her eyes from the bags to Miyako's visage.

"I know. That's what makes me so great." She winked, and giggled. "No, really though. I wanted to. Mom didn't even make me pay... at least, not right away," Miyako added with a small frown, as though she wasn't entirely sure yet.

"Where's my food then," Daisuke demanded, although he wasn't very serious. He caught the shadow of the label of the jelly-fruit cup things Hikari liked for a reason beyond his understanding, because he personally found jelly cups to be disgusting. But he was getting a little desperate for someone to retaliate with him in a conversation. Talking to Takeru and Hikari had been like conversing with a brick wall, and Daisuke was getting a little antsy.

"At the store. Go buy it," she replied without missing a beat, sticking her tongue out at him.

"Our friendship isn't even worth an egg salad," Daisuke asked, looking offended.

Miyako just smiled sweetly at him and set the bags down on the coffee table. She didn't answer him. "I've got snacks, hot drinks, cold drinks, salads, anything and everything a la Hikari," she added in a more affectionate tone than she had used when addressing Daisuke. Hikari smiled again, the way someone smiles at a birthday party throughout the gift-opening part. Daisuke wasn't sure she was entirely feeling the gratitude.

"Thanks, Miyako," she said diplomatically. She sounded tired.

"How're you feeling," she asked. Bed-side manner, Daisuke realized. That was why she sounded nicer. Miyako had never been very good at acting like nothing was wrong for the sake of the dynamic.

Hikari only shrugged in response, and then tried to lean forward to poke through the bags – a distraction from the direction the conversation was taking, Daisuke suspected. She tried to suppress it, but even Daisuke saw her wince, and he put a hand on her shoulder to gently push her back into the couch.

"Here: we've got peppermint tea, hot chocolate, okyakodon domburi – my mom actually made that for lunch, and it was _really_ good so I packaged some –, vanilla ice Koala no March, Kasugai kompeito candy, ...a whole lot of other candies, and some other stuff." She paused. "I'll put it away for you; Takeru, can you help me?"

"Sure," he shrugged, getting to his feet. Daisuke, however, looked offended.

"I could help."

"You'd drop something," Miyako scoffed, but she tousled his hair as she passed him. He scowled and ran his hand over his hair (as though it made any difference) while Hikari giggled. It was hard to stay irritated when it made Hikari smiled. It was so _hard_ lately, getting her to do that – genuinely, not the fake crap that she thought sounded genuine.

"I'll help," he repeated stubbornly, pushing passed Takeru. But Takeru didn't argue with him; he just stepped back and let Daisuke pass; his frown went unnoticed. Daisuke followed Miyako into the kitchen area of the Yagami residence, which was separated from the living room by only a half-wall that was part of the counter space.

"Takeru, I was –" she began, but she broke off mid-sentence when she saw spiky brown hair instead of messy blond. "Daisuke," Miyako sighed, "I told you, you don't have to –"

"No," Daisuke argued stubbornly. "You said I can't."

"Which means you have to," she sighed, shaking her head. "Of course."

"Duh," Daisuke scoffed. Miyako rolled her eyes.

"Since when do you _volunteer_ for work," she teased, although she didn't sound very interested in waiting for an answer. She had already turned to the food, unloading the bags' contents onto the countertop.

"I like to keep things fresh," Daisuke replied loftily.

Miyako looked up at him to grin. "Of course." She tossed him a can of soda. "If you're here to help, put that in the fridge, huh? It's a surprise," she added with an overly dramatic wink.

"What's a surprise," Hikari called warily.

Miyako giggled. "Nothing!"

Daisuke rolled his eyes. "Loser."

"Goggle-headed freak."

"Geek."

"Whatever."

Miyako stuck her tongue out, and Daisuke smirked. He took her lack of insults as a sign of victory in his favor, and he leaned smugly against the fridge door while Miyako turned her back to him and began piling the boxes of tea and hot chocolate that she had brought into a seemingly randomly selected cabinet. Daisuke raised an eyebrow.

"Oi. Miyako."

"_What_ , Daisuke," she snapped, not looking over her shoulder.

"There are cups in that cabinet," he pointed out, perhaps a bit unnecessarily. She paused with her hand holding a box in midair to turn and stare at him.

"So?"

"So... nothing," he mumbled, shaking his head. He decided to skip the fight, this time around. Taichi could fix it later, right? That, or Miyako was going to realign the corner of the box she was holding with Daisuke's head. And he'd kind of, you know, rather she not.

Besides, something distracted him: a small giggle from the living room that barely carried over the sound of the television playing. Daisuke straightened up, like a puppy hearing a bag of food rattle across the apartment. He suddenly looked alert, suspicious, and slightly irritated.

"What do you think they're talking about," he asked, although he wasn't really expecting Miyako to answer. He leaned his elbows on the counter and rested his weight against them, watching Hikari and Takeru with narrowed eyes. Miyako spared him a brief glance before going back to putting things away, sighing loudly in that way that always let Daisuke know that she thought he was being silly – and in a way that he always chose to ignore, because he was convinced she was wrong.

"He's just trying to cheer her up. She needs it," she said breezily, but the fact that she lowered her voice so that she wouldn't be overheard dampened the intended casualness of her tone. Daisuke frowned.

"He's leaning really close," he said skeptically, "don't you think? He can cheer her up without whispers. Hey," he added, louder this time so that Takeru would hear him. Hikari tried to turn her neck and winced, and Takeru put a steadying, comforting hand on her shoulder that made Daisuke's blood boil with jealousy.

"Sup, Daisuke."

"Secrets, secrets, are no fun –" he began in a mocking voice, but he yelped as Miyako chucked the bag of hard candies at the back of his head.

"Oi! What was that for?" he demanded, turning round to glare at her. She scowled, hands on her hips.

"Leave 'em alone," she hissed. He rolled his eyes and turned his back to her. Takeru was looking at him with an exasperated frown, but Daisuke pretended not to notice.

"Make me."

She smiled, a dangerously sweet smile that actually succeeded at sending shivers down Daisuke's spine. But it was too late to take the challenge back. She crumpled up the plastic bags and tossed them in the wastebasket before linking her arm through his. She yanked Daisuke along before he could register what was going on.

"I forgot, we promised Ken we'd stop by his soccer practice," she called out cheerfully, pinching Daisuke's arm when he opened his mouth to question these so-called plans.

"Ow," he hissed. She pinched him again, and he bit his lip to keep his trap shut.

"Oh, really," Hikari asked, frowning slightly. "Tell Ken I said hello," Hikari asked.

"Of course!"

"Same here," Takeru said. He had frowned too, when Hikari had, but something... didn't set right. He looked almost relieved, Daisuke thought. And he had to resist the urge to break out of Miyako's stranglehold on his arm and go plop himself right in the middle of the couch. But, as though sensing this, Miyako began tugging him towards the door.

But then Hikari added, "I'm actually really tired. I think I'm going to take a little nap..."

"Cool, can I control the remote," Daisuke asked before he could stop himself. Miyako glared at him.

"Dummy, I just said we're going to see Ken!"

"Oh. Right," he mumbled. "Nevermind."

"You should go with them, Takeru," Hikari suggested kindly. And Takeru's frown took on a different quality: one that almost worried Daisuke, if he had time to register it more – for Miyako was dragging him towards the hall, and barely paused long enough for him to stuff his feet into his shoes.

"No," they could hear him saying faintly as they opened the door to leave. "Taichi asked me to keep you company."

"But you don't have to, really..."

And then Miyako nudged the door shut with her hip, and finally let go of Daisuke's arm so that she could frown at him properly: sternly and disapprovingly, with her hands on her hips as though she were his mother.

"Eavesdropping's a really bad habit, you know. So is obsession. And paranoia," she added, ticking them off on her fingers. Daisuke rolled his eyes, but although he could tell she was expecting some failing-to-be-witty retort, he wasn't really feeling it. He was looking over his shoulder as they began walking down the hall and towards the elevator, frowning as the door grew smaller and smaller.

"Are they fighting," he inquired curiously. She shrugged.

"I don't know. Maybe. Hikari hasn't mentioned anything."

No, Daisuke thought. She wouldn't. "Huh. So... We're really meeting Ken?"

"Yeah. He doesn't know we're going though."

"Good. I didn't know we were going either. I'm not the only one out of the loop."

"Oh, shut up," she said, smacking his arm as he pressed the button to summon the elevator. Daisuke feigned a dramatic wince as the doors opened and they stepped inside.

"Can I get that egg salad now?"


	18. Chapter Seventeen

**Author's note:** It's been a while, ne? Over a year since I last updated this story. For that, I sincerely apologize. Things went from better again to worse than ever to a place that I don't even know how to describe. Thanks to everyone who has read this story since then, who has reviewed and messaged me hoping for a coming update. This is not a promise to update regularly from this point on – school starts again in a week – but to not let a year go by without updating again.

It's been a while since I wrote for Digimon (except some ficlets on my tumblr). So let's do this.

* * *

"Look at him," Miyako crooned. She was clinging to Daisuke's arm so tightly that his fingers had begun to turn a slight shade of purple. "Isn't he amazing? None of them are even coming _close_ to touching him. Ken-kun is superior in every way! He's unstoppable. He's invincible. He's—"

"I get it already," Daisuke exclaimed. "He's freaking awesome, alright? I _know_. He's my best friend, you know."

Miyako pouted. "You don't have to be cranky."

"You don't have to cut off the circulation in my arm," was Daisuke's grumpy retort.

"What are you _talking_ about," she demanded. "I'm not—" Miyako frowned and looked down at his arm. Her eyes widened in surprise as she let go, only for her finger marks to remain on his exposed skin. "Oops!" She grinned sheepishly. "Sorry."

Daisuke rubbed his arm, scowling. "So when are you going to, you know, _ask him out already_?"

"What?" Miyako blinked. "Who?"

Daisuke rolled his eyes and mimicked, "Isn't he amazing? He's unstoppable. He's invincible!"

"Stop, stop," Miyako hissed, beating his arm while he laughed.

"He can't hear me. He's in the middle of a scrimmage, and we're _way up _at the top of the bleachers," Daisuke pointed out.

"So? Someone could hear you."

"Those damned pygmy woodpeckers. I told them to stop gossiping."

She scowled. "_Daisuke!_"

He rolled his eyes. "You're seriously paranoid."

"And you're seriously annoying sometimes."

"Sometimes? I'm not trying hard enough.

Miyako shook her head as she looked away from him and looked down on the field, where Ken had just scored a goal. She cheered with his team mates, unabashed .

Daisuke raised his eyebrows. "But he can hear that?"

"Sure. Nothing wrong with a friend cheering on a friend."

"Nothing wrong with _liking_ someone, either."

Miyako's cheeks reddened. "I didn't say there was."

The scrimmage was beginning to break up with the approaching end of practice. Boys were high-fiving each other, drinking from their water bottles, wiping the sweat from their foreheads. Ken tossed his water bottle over his head, and Miyako felt as though her face was on fire. She determinedly looked anywhere but at Daisuke, who was observing the entire scene with casual smugness. The jerk.

"You know," Daisuke said, the smirk fading from his face, "I'm being serious."

Miyako gave him a withering look. "You're never serious."

"I'm plenty serious," he cried out indignantly. Miyako giggled.

"'Course you are," she said. He scowled.

"I am. Especially about this. You know how Ken is."

Miyako bit her lip but didn't answer. This conversation had already gone on passed where she'd wanted it to stop – a long time ago. She expected him to do what he always did when she, as he put it, "fangirled." He'd roll his eyes, pull his arm away, and otherwise let her sit there in her wistful thinking. She hadn't even meant to do it – She tried not to, since their not-quite-a-thing a few months back – but she'd run out of things to talk about that didn't revolve around Hikari. She was trying to keep things normal because she didn't know how else they were supposed to act. But Daisuke wasn't being very helpful.

"Yeah," she said shortly. "I know how Ken is." They talked on the phone all the time, sent e-mails to each other sometimes during class. She thought that, by now, she had a pretty darned good idea of how Ken was.

"He won't ask you out. He's too shy."

"He's just not ready," Miyako said stubbornly. "The guy _always_ asks the girl out."

"Sora asked Yamato out," Daisuke pointed out. Miyako raised a single eyebrow in contempt.

"Yes," she said, "and see how well _that_ worked out."

Daisuke opened his mouth and then closed it again, biting his lip. Miyako felt a twinge of guilt, but she didn't say anything. He was only trying to help. Instead, she shoved it away and stood up, for Ken had seen them now and was waving to them from the bottom of the bleachers. Sora had put herself out there, risking being rejected in favor of a thousand plus fan girls, only to get hurt later on – because she was the one who always put a foot forward instead of Yamato. She frowned. Maybe that wasn't entirely fair… She'd never had the nerve to ask Yamato for _his _side of the story. But she would see it in whatever light made her feel like she was in control rather than being controlled by her own hesitation and fear.

Daisuke let out an explosion of breath, but he got to his feet and followed her down the bleachers, using the seats as steps and resisting the urge to turn it into a precarious race to the bottom. Ken held out a hand to help Miyako jump down; she didn't need it, but she took it anyway with a smile. She deliberately avoided making eye contact with Daisuke after the conversation they'd just had at their seats. The last thing she needed right now was to feel awkward and embarrassed in front of Ken.

"Miyako. Daisuke. I wasn't expecting to see you here," Ken pointed out.

"Miyako promised me egg salad," Daisuke said.

"I did _not_," Miyako scowled.

"Which she still hasn't given me," Daisuke finished as though she had not spoken. He grinned as she aimed a kick at his shins, which he easily side stepped. Well, she thought, it wasn't as though she'd been trying very hard.

"Well, are you hungry," Ken asked.

"No," Miyako said, answering for both of them. But Daisuke scowled at her.

"Speak for yourself," he said. "_I_ want my egg salad."

"For crying out—"

"That's fine. Miyako-chan, could we maybe go back to your family's place? We can shut Daisuke up." He smiled, looking a little embarrassed. "And I'm a bit hungry too. I could probably use some dinner."

"Oh." Miyako brightened up. "Yeah, that's fine. It isn't even too far."

"A subway ride," Daisuke pointed out. Miyako aimed another kick at him; this time, it connected, and he yelped in pain and surprise while Ken suppressed a laugh.

"Where's Iori-kun," Ken asked conversationally as the three of them made their way to the subway station.

"Practice," Miyako answered promptly.

"I thought he had practice yesterday," Ken frowned.

"I think he's been practicing more… It helps him calm down and relax," Miyako said, lowering her voice although there was nothing secret in her words. "I mean, we've all got to channel it somewhere."

"Everyone's on edge lately," Daisuke observed.

"With good reason, I think," Ken put in.

"Yeah." Daisuke had been walking with his fingers interlocked behind his head, but now he dropped them down to his sides. Miyako might have teased that he was never serious, but she knew that wasn't the truth; he was serious now. "Miyako."

"Yeah," she asked, defensive despite herself.

"Hikari really hasn't mentioned—"

"She hasn't mentioned anything to me. We've barely spoken outside of what you've seen. Takeru says she sleeps a lot."

"Mentioned what," Ken asked curiously.

"Her fighting with Takeru," Daisuke said promptly.

Miyako scowled at him. "You don't know that for certain."

"They're fighting," Ken asked, eyebrows raised in surprise.

"They seemed kind of tense when we got there earlier," Miyako said, glancing at Daisuke in case he contradicted her; he had gotten there earlier, after all, and hadn't mentioned if something had actually happened before she showed up. "But I mean, we didn't hear them fighting. Hikari's probably, you know, being Hikari."

"Takeru wants to be useful and make her feel better," Ken guessed, "and she's not letting him."

Miyako nodded. "That's probably all."

"Well then," Daisuke said, sliding his hands into his pockets, "he's not the only one getting frustrated."

Miyako and Ken both looked at Daisuke in surprise. She couldn't remember a time – not in over four years of knowing him – when he denounced something Hikari did, or showed any sort of _disgruntlement_ towards her. Ken recovered from his surprise more quickly than she, and asked, "What do you mean?"

"What else," Daisuke asked, looking at them as though they were both slow. "She won't talk to anyone. Wouldn't even admit when she needed to use the bathroom, would she? We could starve her for two weeks, and if you asked if she was hungry, she'd say no." Daisuke snorted. It was difficult to tell from his tone if he was being affectionate and admiring or downright irritated. Miyako frowned, but Ken shrugged.

"That's just Hikari-chan. She's always been that way, hasn't she?"

"As far as I remember," Miyako said, shrugging. But she looked at Daisuke for confirmation. He'd known her longer than most of them. He nodded too, albeit reluctantly.

"Yeah," he said after a moment. "Always."

He sounded bothered. Miyako shook her head.

"Enough," she said.

This time, it was her turn to be stared at. "What," they asked simultaneously.

"Time to talk about something else," she said firmly. "There's nothing we can do about Hikari – or Taichi, or… or what happened – by talking about it and getting flustered with how either of them decide to cope. We're here if they want to talk, or if they just need us to help them with the shopping or cleaning or deciding what movie to watch. So talk about… something else. I don't care what."

There was an awkward moment's silence as they descended into the subway, and then Ken asked in a politely baffled way, "Like what?"

"How was practice? When's your next game? When the hell are you two going to be on the same team so I can go somewhere besides soccer games on weekends?"

Ken grinned at the last question, a teasing twinkle in his eye. "Whenever Daisuke picks up his game," he answered, glancing at Daisuke to see his reaction. He was rewarded by Daisuke growing very red in the face while Miyako laughed.

"Practices are fine."

"He needs all the practice he can work in. I can still kick his ass in a scrimmage," Daisuke said, recovering.

"Sure you can, Motomiya," Ken said airily.

"I can!"

They continued to argue as they bought their tickets and boarded the train, and Miyako smiled. Occasionally, she laughed. But she barely heard the conversation. She only had eyes for Ken. She felt bad for cutting off the conversation about HIkari – the conversation everyone so desperately wanted to have because they couldn't quite figure out what they wanted to or were supposed to be talking about – but she thought it had definitely been for the best. They needed this, to remember that there were worlds outside of the Yagamis', and that there was life alongside death, and they needed to _live_. That was what deaths always reminded her of, although she'd admit – however reluctantly – that it was easy for her to talk. She had never lost anyone very close to her before. Hawkmon getting hurt had been devastating, but even he could come back as an egg in the digital world. Humans didn't come back. When they were dead, they were dead. But they couldn't spend all their time looking at the dead, living in stasis. They needed to make their lives worth something before they were dead too.

The train was full – it was that time of day – so they stood at the pole closest to the door, clinging to it as the train began to pick up speed. She wasn't very used to the trains, preferring to ride her bike wherever she needed to go and rarely needing to venture out of her own district, and the sudden speed took her off guard. She stumbled back, and Ken caught her with his hand on the small of her back. They both blushed as he took his hand away and she regained her balance, deliberately ignoring Daisuke's pointed stares and trying not to smile.

"Thank you," she'd murmured.

"Don't mention it," he'd mumbled in reply.

They got off at a station only a few city blocks away from the Inoue family's convenience store, and they allowed themselves to get swept up in the crowd of exiting commuters before extracting themselves to surface on the street above. She breathed in deep. She hated being underground, absolutely hated it. She had this fear of the surface collapsing on top of her, trapping her beneath forever. It was one of those sorts of fears she never vocalized for fear of sounding silly – it _was_ silly, she told herself – but Ken's smile was a little too understanding when their eyes met. She looked down and away and took the lead towards her family's store.

When they entered, nobody could hear the sound of the overhead bell over the sound of their laughter. If you asked her later, Miyako wouldn't even be able to tell you what they were laughing about – only that they were laughing, and for the first time in a long time, she didn't think that any of them felt particularly guilty about it. Momoe was behind the counter, wiping it down with a clean rag. She looked up when they came in.

"You're back already," she asked. Miyako didn't answer. She had led the boys over to the prepared foods section, where Ken was picking out a sandwich and Daisuke picked up his stupid egg salad. "Miyako."

"Huh? Oh, hey," she said, noticing her sister for the first time.

"I didn't think you'd be back till later. You were bringing stuff over to your friend, right?"

"Yeah, but she already had some company. Daisuke and I figured we'd catch up with Ken. You remember them, right," she asked, glaring at Daisuke out of the corner of her eyes as though daring him to challenge her. To her surprise, he didn't say anything contrary to her statement. He just moved over to the candy counter to inspect the selection.

Momoe was looking at Daisuke, head tilted slightly to one side as she assessed him. "You're Jun's baby brother, right?" She looked at Ken. "And you're that genius boy that they show on TV."

Both boys mumbled something that wasn't quite a confirmation, although Momoe took it as such.

"We came back to get the boys something to eat. Daisuke kept complaining," Miyako said, ignoring his glare.

"Oh. Well, that's a relief," Momoe said, with a slow reluctance as though she didn't want to admit it. "I need you to do me a favor."

"What," Miyako asked warily.

"I need you to cover for me. I need to get to the library before it closes to get a book for class."

Miyako groaned. "But it's my day off! The first day off, I might add, that I've gotten in two weeks. _Slave labor_," she said adamantly. Momoe frowned sympathetically.

"I know, but it's for class. Come on, please? I'm not like Mantarou; you know I never ask for favors. And I'll cover any shift you want, as long as it's not when I have class. _Please_, Miyako?"

Miyako sighed and looked to Daisuke and Ken. They were both watching now, and Daisuke shrugged at her in a "What can you do?" sort of manner.

"Did you guys still want to…," she asked, her voice drifting off as she knew what the answer would be.

"It's okay. We'll hang out with you another time," Ken promised.

"If you pay, I won't hold it against you that you're ditching us after dragging me away from Hikari," Daisuke put in helpfully. She scowled at him.

"Are you _kidding_ me," she demanded.

"I'll pay for it. I'm the one taking Kyo away from you early," she said, holding out a hand so she could ring up Daisuke's purchases. He looked surprised, but he handed her his order obediently, and Momoe pulled some money out of her pocket and dropped it into the register. "Okay, I've really got to go. You've got this, Miyako?"

"Since I was like, eleven," Miyako pointed out, holding out her hand for Momoe's uniform. Her sister pulled it off hurriedly and passed it to her before all but running around the counter.

"Okay. I've gotta go. I don't have a lot of time. Thank you, thanks so much," she said, speaking quickly before she ran out the door. The three of them stood in a strange silence for a minute while Miyako pulled her sister's borrowed uniform on and glared at the register as though it were to blame for her working on her day off.

"You're working in the morning tomorrow, aren't you," Ken asked. Miyako nodded. "Maybe we'll see you in the afternoon then," he suggested, his cheeks going a little pink.

Miyako hoped he meant _he'd_ see her, although all she did was smile and said "Yeah, definitely."

"See ya, Miyako," Daisuke said through a mouthful of egg salad. He'd tucked the can of soda and candy bar into his pockets and was already heading for the door, one arm raised in a lazy wave.

"See you, Miyako. I'm sorry you have to work," Ken said, and he seemed to really mean it.

"Tomorrow though," Miyako promised.

"There's definitely tomorrow," he agreed, and they both smiled.

They stood there, alone in the store, looking at each other for a minute before he caught his lower lip between his teeth and followed Daisuke outside. She longed to follow, to watch his lips for a little while longer. She smiled. But there was always tomorrow.


	19. Chapter Eighteen

**Author's Note:** I think I'm going to try write this in a semi-timely fashion so that I can finish this and move onto finishing some of my other projects around here, as I imagine my profile is growing a bit stale. Thank you so much to the messages and support I've been getting, and continue to get. I might not know most of you on here personally, but your words still mean a lot to me. It's amazing, isn't it, the power that words can have? I think they're horribly underrated in our society today.

I'm actually very proud of this chapter. I hope you all enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

* * *

The hour was getting late: it had been the only time the three of them could get together without work or other commitments getting in the way. The _original_ three of them, Koushiro thought: him, Taichi, and Sora. Nobody else. Excluding Hikari, they were the three he had met first. His parents had wanted him to get into something that normal boys liked, something to get him away from the computer and help him make some friends. He hadn't been very (if any) good, and he hadn't made many friends from soccer that had lasted, either. But he had those two, the ones that had never left. Who had been through more with him than anybody ever had, and probably ever would.

It was hard not to compare new friends to the Chosen. The original Chosen had _lived_ in the Digital World, although to the real world they had only been gone for a matter of mere minutes. They had fought for their lives, quite literally, and had depended more than once on only each other for their survival. The younger kids, with the exceptions of Hikari and Takeru, didn't quite have that… experience, he supposed was the only word he could think of. He didn't doubt that their connection to their partners was just as strong, but they didn't face the same sort of challenges. And he was glad for that. It had been terrifying. Exhilarating and character building, perhaps, but utterly terrifying.

But here, he was back to where his friendships had started: a soccer field at sunset, standing between Taichi and Sora. They looked more at home than he felt. Sora had a look of yearning on her face like she had gone away for a long time but had phoned every day, awaiting the moment when she could return and fling her arms around her beloved field. Taichi merely looked comfortable. He spent more time on this field than anywhere else, except perhaps at school or at work. He could close his eyes and walk to the goal post on the other side of the field, run in circles around it, and probably make a goal. He had a ball in a net that was slung over his shoulder. Sora was still in her tennis gear, and he was still in his work uniform, but they didn't seem to notice or care.

"I haven't been here since soccer camp that one summer," Koushiro admitted. He usually made a wide berth around sports and things that didn't involve computers and intellect. He simply wasn't very good at them, and he felt like he was holding back those who were when he tried to get involved in a game.

Taichi didn't seem bothered by that, though. "I haven't been to this field in a while either," he admitted, tipping the ball out of its bag. It bounced once, then rolled a few feet away before coming to a stop. "I spend most of my time by the elementary school field when I'm not at my own practices. I don't know who uses this field anymore."

"And I don't really care," Sora added cheerfully.

"What are you at the elementary field for," Koushiro asked.

"Coaching the team," Sora answered.

"Assistant coaching," Taichi corrected her, and she rolled her eyes.

"Yeah, yeah. I've _yet_ to see the head coach at those practices," Sora muttered. Taichi allowed himself a rueful smile.

"Up for a game," he asked, nudging the ball towards Koushiro with his foot. Koushiro looked up in alarm.

"I told you I haven't been here in _years_," he said.

"Yeah?"

"I haven't _played_ since soccer camp," Koushiro said, sounding slightly panicked.

"Really," Taichi asked, eyebrows disappearing into his hair with his surprise. "How the hell did we miss that?"

"Saving the world. Trying not to flunk out of school. The usual," Koushiro said. "There wasn't much time for soccer in my schedule." Sora put a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

"That's okay," she promised. "We'll go easy on you, right Tai?" He didn't answer. "Taichi?" She narrowed her eyes at him.

"Huh?" He blinked. "Oh. Yeah." It couldn't have been clearer that Taichi hadn't heard a word. He kicked the ball ahead of them, and Sora laughed before sprinting after it. Koushiro made a half-hearted attempt to keep up, but it was really a race between Sora and Taichi to the ball. Sora reached it a hair before Taichi, punting it out of his reach.

"You got a head start," Taichi accused.

"It was your kick. You should've known where it was going," Sora yelled back, and they were off again.

Koushiro's jog slowed to a walk, then to a total stop as he stood to the sidelines to watch the match. It really was something to watch the two of them play. They had house rules that had been in place for so long that they no longer thought to call them out at the start of a game. Koushiro would have been pummeled, he knew. Sora was a ruthless player, even in a mini-dress, and more than once Taichi got shoved or knocked to the ground as she fought for control of the ball. And he didn't have any qualms about holding back against her, either. Both knew the other's limits, knew what _not_ to hold back. There was a lot of intensity on that field for only two players, one of whom had barely graced the soccer field in seven years.

"Kou-kun," Sora called out suddenly, slowing to a stop and trapping the ball beneath her trainer. "You playing?"

"I, um—" he stammered, alarmed to have been caught not even trying.

"Of course he is," Taichi said before Koushiro could come up with an adequate answer. Soccer's not a spectator sport."

"Actually," Koushiro said, frowning, but Sora didn't allow him time to correct them. She kicked the ball towards him.

"C'mon," she said encouragingly. "Free kick. Scrimmage with us."

"Soccer isn't supposed to have three teams," he argued weakly, nudging the ball forward.

"House rules," Taichi replied promptly.

Koushiro sighed in defeat. "Alright, alright." He shrugged off his jacket – he hadn't had time to change out of his school uniform – and tossed it aside, where he thought it would be safe.

"C'mon, Koushiro," Taichi called.

Koushiro took a deep breath, then threw himself into the game as best he knew how, trying to mimic the intensity and the drive that he saw in Sora and Taichi when they played. He was still mediocre at best, but they waited until he'd driven the ball closer towards them before trying to take it away. He wasn't as rough as they were with the game, unwilling as he was to shoulder Taichi out of the way or kick at Sora's bare legs.

"We're not made of glass, Kou," she scolded him, although the general effect was ruined by her laughter. "Play like you mean it!"

"No holding back," Taichi added. "Give it your everything – the ball is yours, and you're _going_ to take it – or your heart's not in it."

"You don't have to be good," Sora said when she saw Koushiro open his mouth to speak. "You just have to play."

They didn't talk very much after that. They just played; Koushiro played in a way that he hadn't played even when he was a little kid until their legs ached and sweat dripped into their eyes and the three of them collapsed on the field, the ball neglected a matter of feet away from them. Koushiro could hear the others breathing heavily nearby – or maybe that was his own breath. He was more out of shape than Sora or Taichi. But he realized he was smiling.

"Who won," Taichi asked.

"Koushiro," Sora said promptly at the same time that Koushiro said, "I lost track."

"What," he asked, propping himself up on his elbow to stare at her.

"You played harder than we do."

"That doesn't mean I won." He didn't even remember scoring a goal, although the point of their game never seemed to be so much about scoring as keeping the ball away from the other. In the struggle for control, the goals were almost forgotten.

"House rules," Taichi reminded him. Koushiro fell back to the grass with a frustrated sigh.

"Your house rules make no sense," Koushiro confessed. Sora and Taichi laughed.

"We should do this with Daisuke and Ken one day," Sora said. She tilted her head back to better see Taichi, although Koushiro didn't think she saw anything but a mound of hair. "What do you think?"

"One day," Taichi agreed. "A different field though."

"Yeah?"

"This is our field," Taichi said firmly. "The three of us. It'd just be weird."

"I've never played anyone but you here. Well, coming here without a team," Sora said, correcting herself. Koushiro knew that the soccer team that she had been on when they were younger used this same field for practice.

"Me either," Taichi admitted. "We'll bring them to the field where Daisuke tripped Ken."

Sora snorted. "You know how to pick 'em, Tai."

He laughed. It was good to hear Taichi laughing again. It didn't happen often – here, on the soccer field, was the first time Koushiro had seen Taichi laugh often and effortlessly for the first time in a while now – but it made him happy when it did. He never said so, of course. But things seemed a little less bad when Taichi was laughing.

"Where's Agumon," Koushiro asked suddenly. He realized it was the first time he hadn't seen the dino-digimon since Sora and Yamato had the idea to bring him to the real world. They thought he would be able to cheer up Taichi and bring him to himself a little bit during the worst.

"I convinced him to go back," Taichi said, the laughter fading from his voice a little bit. "He was getting weak… Well, you know what happens when they're here too long." Koushiro tilted his head back to see Taichi shrugging his shoulders. "He was always eating and feeling tired. He needed to go back… recharge, so to speak. I didn't want him pushing himself."

"Yeah, I understand," Koushiro said. There was a strange tone in Taichi's voice like he was asking for that: for understanding. He didn't understand _why_; they all knew the Digimon couldn't live in the real world for very long. It took too much energy, and they could only pull so much from their human partners before it stopped being enough. "He's doing okay?"

"Yeah. Hikari finally gave the okay to get Tailmon. Tomorrow, when Agumon's had a chance to regain his strength." He heard Taichi swallow.

"I'm sure Hikari will be happy to see Tailmon," Sora said gently.

"She should've told her earlier," Taichi admitted. "Though I doubt she's totally in the dark."

"They're such gossips, Digimon," Sora said, though her voice was fond. The boys hummed their agreement.

"I smell like boy," she said after a while. Taichi burst out laughing, and Koushiro finally sat up, painfully aware of the ache in his sides and legs now that they had relaxed long enough to absorb the abuse he had put them through. "Want to go again?"

"Actually," Taichi said, "I really want a hot dog. Either of you game?"

"Race you to the car," Sora suggested. Koushiro groaned.

"More running," he asked, and they both laughed as they helped him to his feet. Taichi picked up Koushiro's jacket and handed it to him.

"No more running," Taichi promised.

"Kill joy," Sora said, although she didn't sound very put out. She stepped in between the two of them and slung her arms around both of their shoulders with a content sigh. "My boys," she said. Taichi kissed the top of her head, but Koushiro just smiled and slipped out from under her arm. She grinned back at him. Dirty and sweaty, she seemed to be glowing despite the fact that the sun had nearly completely dipped beneath the horizon. Beside her, Taichi seemed to glow as well, still breathing heavy and feeling light-headed from the adrenaline rush. He looked healthy. He looked happy.

Maybe there was magic in the soccer field after all.


	20. Chapter Nineteen

**Author's Note:** I know that many had to reread the story to find their way to the events in the latest chapters (myself included, don't worry) so I want to thank everyone for taking the time to do so – for old readers and newcomers.

I've missed Digimon, and its fandom.

* * *

Ken and Daisuke lingered within the store for a few minutes longer, largely due to Ken's reluctance to leave; Daisuke walked out twice before realizing that his friend wasn't behind him. The third time, he rapped on the window, glaring at the two of them through the glass. Miyako flushed.

"I think Daisuke's getting impatient," she said unnecessarily.

"I think so too," Ken said, blushing – although when he thought about it, he didn't understand why. She smiled, and they said their goodbyes, promising that there was always tomorrow. For what, though, he wasn't entirely sure. He felt like there was a plan, but he didn't know what it was. Tomorrow, though. He supposed they were all going to see each other tomorrow.

"The two of you," Daisuke said, wrinkling his nose in disgust as the door swung shut behind Ken. "Seriously."

"What about the two of us?"

Daisuke clicked his tongue impatiently. "She did the same thing. 'I don't know what you're talking about. You're a pain in the ass.' _I'm_ the pain in the ass," Daisuke said, mimicking Miyako in a high pitched voice. He grumbled with irritation. "I don't even know why I bother."

"Well," Ken said cautiously, not wanting to spur Daisuke's temper further without even knowing what he supposedly did wrong. "What _are_ you talking about?"

"You!" Daisuke exploded. "You and Miyako! And your… flirting… thing," Daisuke said. "Don't you think it's gone on long enough?"

"I don't – we – what are you talking about," Ken repeated lamely. Daisuke punched his arm, and Ken couldn't exactly blame him. He winced and rubbed his arm. Did he have to hit so _hard_ though?

"You're gonna miss your chance if you don't speak up," Daisuke warned him. "She's all for old-fashioned manners. You don't ask her out, she'll never say a word to the contrary. She'll say everything under the sun except that she wants to date you."

"You'd know from experience, ne," Ken asked quietly. Daisuke let out a puff of breath, and Ken wondered if he'd stepped out of line – this 'best friend' thing was still weird, even after a few years. He'd never had one before. "Sorry, I—"

"No, you're right. That's _exactly_ right," Daisuke said easily, lacing his hands behind his head again. "But you're way into her than I was. So you should definitely go for it and don't hold back."

"I…we'll see," Ken allowed hesitantly, his face burning bright red. "The timing just seems… bad."

Daisuke gave him an incredulous _look_. "The timing is bad?" Daisuke snorted. "Okay."

"Well, with Hikari-chan and Taichi-san," Ken said delicately.

"You heard Miyako before," Daisuke said. "We still need to live. _We_ haven't died."

"No, but…" Ken frowned. "That's a bit harsh, isn't it?"

"Mrs. Yagami's – was a lot like Hikari," Daisuke said. His tone was so serious that Ken was a little bit alarmed. He was _sure_ this time that he had crossed that invisible line. He was beginning to apologize when Daisuke cut over him saying, "She do—didn't like people going out of their way. She liked to help." He grinned, embarrassed. "She liked playing match maker too. With everybody. And she'd forget who she said you'd look cute with, and try pair you up with someone else – one of Hikari's friends that came over a lot, or something. Especially if you were visiting at the same time. She'd call it Destiny."

"You know," Ken said apologetically, "I didn't even think… You knew the Yagamis really well, didn't you?"

"Hikari and I've been friends since we were little. We were always in the same classes."

"You must miss them."

"They were nice," Daisuke said shortly, and Ken understood that he didn't want to talk about it any further. He'd prefer to talk about the living: Hikari and Taichi, and the others. And him. "Just…" Daisuke sighed and ran his hands through his hair. It had been sticking up in a methodical sort of chaos, but now it was all over the place. "Just think about it, 'kay?"

"Yeah," Ken said, nodding. "Okay."

"D'you wanna come over for dinner or something," Daisuke asked, more cheerful now. He didn't handle very serious conversations well; they never lasted very long with Daisuke, which was why he and Ken worked so well together. Ken thought too much. Sometimes he thought Daisuke didn't think _enough_.

"No, I promised my mother I'd be home tonight. I've been late to dinner every night this week," Ken said with an apologetic smile. Daisuke shrugged.

"No problem. This is where we split then, ne?"

"Yeah," Ken confirmed with a nod. They bumped fists in farewell – Ken found it weird, but Daisuke insisted it was 'cool', so he went along with it – and went their separate ways. Daisuke turned right. Ken kept walking straight, towards a bus stop. He usually took the train – it was faster – but today he wanted a few extra minutes to himself to close his eyes and think before being thrown into the familial scene.

Him and Miyako… He'd thought about it before, of course. He'd thought about it a lot. But at first, there had been the feeling of inferiority – she'd never want a guy like him – and the occupation with atoning for his actions as Kaiser. And then there had been school – they were all busier than ever now between school work and club activities – and she had work where he had soccer practice, and it never seemed to have time to fall into place properly.

He boarded the bus and paid his fare with the others who had been waiting at the stop, and then claimed a window seat to himself and rested his head against the pane as the bus rumbled off. He had a long time till his stop, so he allowed himself to close his eyes – not to fall asleep so much as to block out everyone else on the bus. There had been a couple who boarded with him, and they sat across the aisle, cuddled against one another and talking too quietly for anyone else to hear. The girl kept smiling and stifling her laughter. Ken closed his eyes again. They were just making things harder for him.

It wasn't like he _didn't_ want to date Miyako. He wondered if she thought that. But he did. Does. Want to date her, he means. You know, go out to movies, to dinner, be one of those couples that walked around the city parks holding hands and giggling to themselves, in a world of their own. They could _go_ to a world of their own; they still had the digital world, and their friends there. So what was stopping him? Were circumstances really getting in his way? Or was he just afraid?

Maybe he was being a coward.

The bus ride took longer than usual. He should have glanced at the time on his cell phone before he boarded. Maybe he should have gone to Daisuke's after all, killed some time, and taken the train like he usually did. But it was too late to worry about that now. When it became clear that the entire way would be marked by stop-and-start traffic (not including the stops made for other passengers as they went along), Ken pulled out his mp3 player and put in his headphones. He didn't know a lot of bands. Most of the songs he had were from bands that Daisuke, Yamato, and Miyako recommended – although he didn't tell her that he had removed the girlier songs before they even reached the chorus. But while he could escape the sappier proclamations, he could not escape the love songs.

He sighed, wishing he had a book with him to pass the time a little quicker. As it was, he had nearly fallen asleep by the time the bus entered his district, and he was still wiping sleep from his eyes with his knuckles as he slipped his mp3 player and headphones back into his pocket and stepped off the bus alone. It was a short walk from there to the apartment building where he lived with his parents, and he doesn't remember much of it; his mind was still on the short but very direct conversation he'd had with Daisuke… Or rather, Daisuke had been very direct, and he had been failingly evasive.

"Ken," his mother called from the kitchen as he shut the door behind him and slipped off his shoes, "is that you?"

"Yeah," he called back. He nudged his shoes to the side of the door and peered into the kitchen. "Sorry, am I late?"

"I was just starting to make dinner. Are you hungry? You can have a little snack while it's cooking," she offered, but he shook his head.

"I'm not that hungry," he assured her. "I can wait for dinner."

"Alright then, dear. Your father's watching TV, although I doubt you'll want to join him. It's one of those silly crime sitcoms." She wrinkled his nose. "As if the news isn't bad enough, we need to make murders and things _entertainment_?"

Ken smiled. "Okay. Thanks Mom."

"Mhm," she said absently. Her attention had already returned to her cooking. Her lips were pursed, thinking about the kinds of shows his father – and Ken, although he never admitted it to her – most enjoyed.

"Hey there Tiger," his father said as he came into the living room. He patted the cushion next to him. "Too old to spend a few minutes with your old man?"

Ken grinned and joined his father on the couch. He didn't know what show was on – it wasn't one he usually watched – but he stared at the screen for a few minutes to indulge his dad. He wasn't really seeing it, though. Something had occurred to him.

It had been a long time since he'd gone to visit Sam.

"Hey, um, Dad," he asked hesitantly. His father looked at him, an eyebrow raised inquisitively.

"What's up?"

"I was just uh, wondering." Ken shifted uncomfortably. His brother was always a very sensitive subject with his parents. They never discussed him, not ever. They did sometimes after… after it had first happened, but when Ken didn't answer, they eventually stopped. He'd never brought him up, to his parents or anybody else. "Where's Sam again?"

His father frowned. Ken resisted the urge to squirm under his dad's stare. He looked… mostly confused, a lot concerned, and a little sad. Finally, he said, "You never wanted to visit Sam before. You used to throw tantrums when your mother suggested it."

Ken shrugged. He didn't have an explanation. He just wanted to visit his brother.

His father waited, but when it became clear Ken wasn't going to say anything, he sighed. "There's an old cemetery just outside town. You remember it?"

Ken nodded.

"Family plot's there," his father said gruffly. "It's not too hard to find. It's a small place." That went without saying. There was a reason 99 percent of Japanese were cremated, Ken thought. It was a small island. There wasn't room for caskets and large plots of land dedicated to the deceased.

Ken clapped his dad on the shoulder. "Thanks," he said.

"Are you going now," his father asked, sounding surprised. "You just got home."

"No. But final exams are coming up. I'm going to study until dinner's ready."

"We can have your mother bring your food to your room, if you need to study," his father said. The sadness was slowly fading away, although the concern didn't. Ken felt something strangely like relief; his grades were something tangible his parents could focus on, something that reminded them that he was still alive. As long as they had something in the future to think about, they didn't look weighed down by grief – even after all these years. Ken understood. The grief still shook him sometimes too. But it wasn't grief that drove him to visit Sam after so many years. He just wanted to talk to his brother again, the way he used to… before. When Sam still blew bubbles and played soccer with him, helped Ken with his homework, and smiled. Before.

"That's okay," Ken said, shaking his head. His mother always used to bring his food to his room. He rarely ate it. That had been when he was the Kaiser. He didn't welcome reminders of that time. "I'll come out and eat with you guys. I think I'm well-prepared. I'm just doing a little review."

"Study like you're in danger of failing," his father reminded him. "Too much confidence makes you suffer."

Ken smiled. "I know."

The next day, he took the bus out to the part of the district that his father had described to him. It wasn't a place that he went very often; he didn't usually need to leave Tokyo for very much, and when he did it was usually on the train, which was cheaper and faster for long-distance travel. But he needed time to collect himself.

It was his first time visiting his brother's grave since the burial.

The bus ride took far too long and was over far too quickly. He hesitated before getting up and making his way to the front before the bus driver decided to close the door and move along to the next stop. His knees were shaking and his breath felt caught in his throat, but it wasn't exactly like he was afraid. What was there to be afraid of? But he was anxious. It had been a long time since he'd forced himself to confront his brother's death. The closest he came was a photograph in a frame on his desk. But he'd spent so much of his life trying to replace his brother, and then trying to atone for trying to replace his brother.

He found the plot after a few minutes of wandering around. There was nobody else there, which suited him just fine. He'd spent much too much time on the television for a few years; people still approached him from time to time, and he had no desire to deal with that while he was visiting Sam.

"You never expected that, did you," Ken asked out loud. "Everyone was always looking at you."

He used to resent that. It had been the driving force in creating the Kaiser, in helping the dark spore foster. Now, he smiled ruefully as he stood in front of the family plot. It was a large obelisk with the names and dates of every Ichijouji family member buried there, along with some of their spouses. The area around it was fenced off with a short, one-rung black iron fence. There weren't many more spaces available. Sam's name was close to the end of the obelisk. There was a space above him for their parents, not yet gone, and below. Ken supposed that was for him. It was lucky his dad didn't have any brothers.

He knelt down before the obelisk. He reached out a hand to trace the outline of Sam's name with his fingertips, but he hesitated, as though an invisible barrier protected the obelisk from his touch. He lowered his hand to his lap again, breathing in deeply. He released it slowly, and then said quietly, "Hello Sam. It's been a while, ne? …I missed – I miss you."


End file.
